


Unusual Circumstances

by sparksofsonder



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Custom Shepard (Mass Effect), Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Light BDSM, Mutual Pining, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-04-21 18:32:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14290863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparksofsonder/pseuds/sparksofsonder
Summary: Shepard meets a mysterious turian after he saves her life on Omega. She could never have predicted what would come next.





	1. Murphy's Law

“Tali, this is ridiculous.”  
“No. What’s ridiculous is that you haven’t even been to so much as a party in two years.”  
“You can’t exactly blame me. I’ve been busy.” She thought this comment might silence her quarian friend, at least till they got to the nightclub. It did not.

“Keelah, Shepard, you’ve had plenty of opportunities. Jack, Wrex, and I go almost every time we have shore leave. You just like to sit in your nice, fancy quarters and sulk.”

Shepard frowned, irritated at her friend’s analysis of her commander’s behavior. “I’d hardly call it sulking. The reapers are the biggest threat this galaxy has ever faced. War takes planning,” she responded defensively.

Even through the quarian’s envirosuit, Shepard heard her friend make a dismissive sound before replying. “Sure, they are, which is exactly why you need to relax every once in a while. Let loose, ya know?” 

Tali did have a point. When was the last time she had even had a drink? Or worse, gotten laid? She tried not to dwell on that sad fact too long, and put on the best confident face she could procure. She wasn’t here to confront her tragic past-- she was here to forget it. She wasn’t about to let an ancient race of sentient robot-bugs sour the rare good mood.

“You might not think so, but I have been known to ‘let loose’ on occasion,” Shepard replied, putting finger quotes around her expression, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

Immediately, Tali stopped walking altogether, hands holding her stomach as she tried to contain a wave of laughter. If the previous line of conversation held any tension whatsoever, it was all but obliterated with Tali’s accented laughter. It took a long while for her to even begin to contain herself. She gasped for air as her fit of giggles began to subside. Shepard tried her best to put on a mask of fake annoyance to keep her best friend from making a scene in front of the club. 

When Tali finally did speak, she was wheezing: “Ha, riiiight Shepard. I’ll believe _that_ when I see it… if I ever see it,” she giggled. “I almost peed myself there, would've been a bosh’tet in the suit, lemme tell you.”

Shepard gave her a playful thump on the shoulder. “Very funny, Tali, laugh it up. Just remember this when you’re so shitfaced that you can’t even stand up straight.” She groaned. “Ugh, I’m gonna have to walk you home… again,” Shepard chided.

“With any luck, I hope that I’m the one having to walk you home,” Tali said as they arrived at the entrance to the club. The elcor bouncer barely even gave them a second glance, before stopping an irritated human male from sneaking in behind them.

“Fine, have it your way,” Shepard said, smiling to her friend as she strode into the bright lights and pulsating music of Afterlife. She turned to face Tali, as if to say “what now”, but found the quarian running over to see someone from the Flotilla. Tali, turned mid-stride and gave her an enthusiastic three-fingered thumbs-up. Shepard nodded a silent permission for her friend to leave her. Tali was nothing if not social; she deserved some time to catch up. Not wanting to intrude on what was likely a meeting between old shipmates, Shepard swiftly made her way over to the bar.

Her eyes drifted lazily over the cocktail menu, deciding to order what sounded the coolest. Atrocious logic, she knew, especially in a mainly non-human system. She’d accidentally been given turian whiskey before, and damn if that wasn't one of the most embarrassing nights of her life. A lot of slow grinding and then dancing and then laughing and then a lot of crying and vomiting in the men’s room. Decidedly _not classy_. But still, tonight was a new night, and she wanted, no, needed, something to get her mind off of the imminent armada of doom headed their way.

Ordering a drink titled “Shockwave”, she decided then that she wanted to make Tali’s earlier request a reality.

Consequences be damned.

Her new plan was to get so drunk that Tali (or likely someone stronger-- Tali was better with a shotgun, not brute strength) would indeed have to carry her out of there. She downed the drink in one go, and ordered another. It was sweet, probably asari-made, but left the taste of fire in the back of her throat. The surprised barkeep looked at her quizzically, but still poured her another drink all the same. _This is stupid_ , her brain told her. _Being stupid for one night won’t kill you_ , the alcohol replied. 

She gulped the second, too, feeling the burn heat up her chest. It ran like molten lava down her throat, and then to her arms and legs, and finally nestled itself at the crux of her thighs. This was the good stuff. It was gonna be someone’s lucky night, she thought to herself, and ordered another. The faster she could get drunk, the better. 

But of course, she jinxed her own situation. Things could never be that simple.

“The Citadel legal limit for humans on Shockwave is three. Any more after that and you’ll end up in the med clinic or dead. Most humans don’t often make it past their first,” stated the bartender matter-of-factly.  
“I didn’t realize the Council had so much jur...juris..” the alcohol was already taking its toll. She smiled inwardly as she realized that this must be the _really good stuff_. Thank the goddess for asari distilleries. If only she had even the remotest idea of what it was made of. Actually, nevermind, she didn't want to know. Asari could be into some really weird shit.  
“Jurisdiction. On Omega,” she finally spat out. 

“Well, it's really not the Council, that's just what I tell people. Truth is, Aria (and therefore me) is getting sick of picking up dead humans from the dancefloor and disposing of them. It tends to repel customers. Bad for business,” the batarian recited, like he’d given this lecture before.

“I still have one left, don’t I?” Shepard said, with a lot less control than she would have liked in her voice. The buzz was already warping her thoughts, and if she didn’t order her third soon, she might never be able to. The drunkenness had become a lot to handle all at once, but her delirious brain congratulated her on being able to get hammered so quickly. _Good job, self_. The aliens really did know how to party.

Her drink provider was quickly becoming annoyed with her, though. She subconsciously recognized that yeah, maybe she was being a little bitchy, but she was also Commander _fucking_ Shepard of the Alliance Marines, so...

“Yes, but ma’am, I’d be careful. Omega is a dangerous place, and half the people in this bar already have their eyes on you.” If Shepard wasn't so drunk, she might have thought he was concerned. Her brain was quick to correct, _concerned, but still annoyed. He's a batarian. They hate humans and they're fucking nightmares_. 

She decided sharp, quick, and curt was the way to respond. “Just fuckin’ hit me already.” 

The batarian eyed her once more before pouring her drink, rolling his eyes all the while. His large hand slid the glass across the counter to her waiting palm. All of a sudden, the glass became entrancing. She gazed at the way the flashing lights reflected off its transparency for a while, before again taking the shot. It felt like this one went straight to her brain. The lights became brighter, the music, darker, and Shepard pushed clumsily off the countertop and began making her way through the crowd. It wasn’t long before she found herself a cluster of sweating bodies to grind on and dance with. She was here to let go, after all. She was looking into the mesmerizing eyes of a particularly purple asari when a man came up behind her, placing rough hands on her swaying hips. If Shepard was completely honest with herself, she couldn’t even bring herself to notice what species he was. She was so wasted that he could’ve been a hulking elcor and she wouldn’t have even cared. It was awhile before she began to feel sick. A sudden rush of dizziness swamped her out of nowhere, and she was forced to back off and find a wall, hoping to stumble into some clear air. _Fuckin’ shockwaves_. 

It wasn’t long before more people started hitting on her. A whistle here, a wink there, but thus far she’d been successfully avoiding them. She knew she was fairly attractive, by human standards at least, with medium-length blonde hair, hazel eyes, and a lean physique, but even now she noticed men of several species eyeing her hungrily.

As she walked past the dark, barely-lit booths in the corner of the club, heading for the lower level, she felt someone’s presence behind her. She spun around, head swimming with those terrible cocktails, only to find her least favorite species in the galaxy meeting her gaze… again. 

A batarian, like her bartender. Only this one was exponentially less friendly and a great deal more domineering. “Hey, baby. What’s a fine piece of ass like you doing all alone in a place like this?” he asked, all four of his eyes glinting in the strobe lights. To Shepard’s intoxicated mind, they looked blacker and even more sinister than deep space. As soon as he approached, Shepard began to regret her newfound plan to drink herself into oblivion. She had very little control over herself, let alone the situation. Her eyes darted to Tali, wordlessly pleading with the quarian to _just look up, please_.

“Oh uh, I.. I’m not.. I’m not alone,” she finally stuttered. “My f-f-friend is over somewhere in that direction… I think,” she said, waving her hand noncommittally. 

“It’s okay baby. I make great company,” he told her, eyes completely predatory. Leaning in, he slid a hand up her bare arm, before bringing it to squeeze her breast. His breath was sour, and she fought the urge to vomit. As he did so, he pushed her even further into the dark corner. Goosebumps crawled like spiders along her arms and the nape of her neck. She was vulnerable, and _so fucking stupid_ , and suddenly it was all too much. 

Shepard was taken aback, but much too drunk to engage. All she could manage was an incredibly weak protest.  
“S-stop.”

“I know you like it, slut. All you female humans are the same, hoping to come into a place like this to get fucked by an _alien_ like me…” he whispered in her ear. “Turns you on,” he added with vile confidence. He crossed his arms in about the cockiest way imaginable and began to drag his eyes up and down her now-heaving chest. 

God, if only she were sober. Her biotics would already have had him paralyzed, or worse. Concentration, though, vanished from her rapidly-declining mental functions. Regrettably, her abilities didn’t work anywhere near as well when she was wasted. The smallest flicker of blue came from her fingertips before sizzling away along with the pulsating lights of Afterlife.

The batarian snorted at her display. “Trying to throw me across the club? Aw, poor baby,” he chuckled. “I’ll let you off with just a warning this time… since we just met and all. You try that again, though, you’ll really be in trouble,” he warned.

“Please, just leave me alone,” she begged. God, if her crew could see her now. Begging a criminal to stop being a criminal. Rich. Her once-sharp mind was a total disaster, and she had no control whatsoever. 

She began scanning her eyes over the room, desperately scanning for Tali. She spotted the quarian all the way across the bar, laughing with her friend, oblivious to the trouble Shepard was in. She loved her friend, but knew how irresponsible and distracted she could become. Tali would never even notice if this guy dragged her away into some dark alley. Not till it was too late, anyway.

“Leave you alone? Oh, but we haven’t even started yet,” he said, sliding his free hand up her leg, under the short dress Tali had helped her pick out only hours earlier.  
Shepard began to panic. Her breath came in shallow pants and her chest tightened with dread. She pushed against him, weakly holding her hands out in front of her, as if that would keep him away. She felt complete and utter shame at the fact that a galaxy-hailed hero like her could let herself be manhandled like this-- in a seedy bar packed with criminals, of all places.  
“I mean it, dick,” Shepard said, giving his hard chest a little shove. The booze was coursing its way through her system. Inhibition was out the airlock. They didn’t call it liquid courage for nothing.  
“Alright, alright, fine. Guess we are gonna have to have it the hard way. Let's take this party to the tunnels.”

 _Oh fuck_.

“But first,” he reached down into his pocket, pulling out something shiny, “you’re gonna message this friend of yours and tell her you’re about to go have a really nice time with this _awesome_ guy you just met. Better tell her not to wait up for you,” he sneered.

A totally unfiltered response made it's way past her lips before she had the sense to think. “No,” was her curt reply.

Before she could so much as shiver, that shiny thing was at her throat. A knife. Of course. Because this situation could not possibly get any worse. All four of her attacker’s eyes were slits. He was impatient, getting angry by the second. 

“I’ll slit that pretty little throat of yours so fast you won’t even be able to scream. They might not even find the body till morning, what with how dark it is in here.”

Shepard just gaped at him. 

“Fuck, that’s a pretty little mouth you’ve got there. And trust me, you’ll wanna do this the easy way. Just let me fuck some human pussy and I’ll be on my way. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You might even like it,” he commanded. Shepard felt sick to her stomach. Like an ugly serpentine monstrosity, her fear writhed around in her gut. “Now, the message.”

Shepard stood in complete shock. _She was going to get raped_. The batarian eventually increased the knife’s pressure on her throat. Swallowing what felt like shards of glass, she reluctantly pulled her Omnitool up to type the message. With him watching her every move, Shepard typed his demand to Tali, saying just what he’d told her to. The alcohol made it quite difficult; she could barely make sense of what she wanted to say. Shepard felt her blood turn to ice as the message went through. Her brain prepared itself for shutdown.

“Good girl. See? Was that so hard?’ he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm; he was practically dragging her down the back steps of the club into the tunnels of Omega. The batarian’s grip on her arm was nearly painful, his thick hand squeezing the life out of hers.  
Shepard dragged her feet as much as possible, harder to do in heels than one would imagine, but of course, it’d be as difficult as possible. Her drunken state had her at an extreme disadvantage and panic had already taken over. Her vision was blackening around the edges, a handy effect of Shockwave, she was sure.  
How had she even ended up here? Just yesterday she had been talking to the salarian Dalatrass about providing more scientists for the war. The Dalatrass had tried to argue, but Shepard had shut her down at every point, nearly forcing the leader to commit at least something. Then, Shepard had been all power.  
Now, she was weaker than she'd ever have liked to admit, even to herself.

As her attacker dragged her into a corner, she met eyes with several vorcha, who snickered to themselves before she passed out of their sightlines. She knew they were nearly all stupid criminals, and likely had very few motivations outside of getting a few credits, but she'd been hoping that they might at least draw the line at rape.

Apparently not. 

The batarian grew even more impatient and his grasp on her forearm had her scared. This was the first time she'd been truly scared in a long time. The last had been when she'd chosen between Ash and Kaidan on Virmire. It was truly the most damaging decision she’d ever had to make. She'd been scared for her sanity then. After, her friends had been supportive, but to this day, none of them knew she went back up to her quarters to cry herself to sleep for months afterward. 

That darkness was shaken from her mind now as the batarian announced their arrival. 

“Good a place as any,” he decided. “I've just about lost my patience with you, so it's gonna be hard and it's gonna be rough and you're probably not gonna like it. Now, strip,” he commanded her.

“Fuck you,” Shepard spat at him. She didn't come as far as she had only to get raped by some shithead on Omega. 

“That's it, bitch,” he said angrily. He lunged at her, then, grabbing the fabric of her dress right above her breasts and ripping it straight down the middle, leaving her shaking and nearly naked at the mercy of his gaze. She never realized how strong batarians were. If she was going to avoid this, she'd have to do something more coherent than a simple show of force. Mostly because a show of force was definitely not in the cards right now. 

Coherence likely wasn't either, with all the alcohol coursing through her system, but she knew she had to try.  
She concentrated on her biotics with as much force as she could muster. This plan would be mostly ineffective if they didn't come through. She was going to try anyway, devouring her nagging fear of being overpowered.

She chanced a glance up, sensing movement out of the corner of her eyes. The asshole was coming at her again. She held up her hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay, wait.” He stopped, still jittery with anticipation. “I, um, guess I haven't been entirely honest with you,” she said, feeling sick at what she was going to say next. She hoped the fear was not audible in her quivering voice.

The man paused, deliberating with himself as to whether this could be a trick, most likely.. She guessed his expression was something akin to impatient curiosity. She could never tell with all those eyes. Shepard took his silence as permission to continue.

“You were right,” she said, barely more than a whisper. It was all part of the act her drunken brain had stitched together. 

Now he was smiling, completely smug.  
“Right about what, sweetheart?” He asked, running his beefy hands up and down her sides, slowly pulling her close. She felt his erection pushing against the crux of her thighs through his pants. She swallowed her complete disgust and continued, biding her time.

“About why I came to Afterlife. Even to Omega, really,” she said, as seductive as possible. “I want it.” She hoped inflection would take her from there. She should win an award for how good this acting is, she thought to herself. 

“Ah, say no more baby. You won't be disappointed. I'll be the best you've ever had,” he said, cockiness coating his voice. _Thank fuck batarians are nothing if not stupid_ , the voice in her head whispered.

Shepard still thought she might puke, and not just from the booze.  
She pushed the repulsion back down and got very close to him, willing her biotics to cooperate _just this once_. She peered up at him from under her lashes in what she hoped was a lustful gaze, and gently placed her hands on his shoulders. He was going to be completely oblivious.

If this all worked out, that is. 

As soon as his hands started to creep around her bare torso, she created as big of a biotic force as she could and kneed him with all the force she had, directly in his groin.  
Despite the intoxication, her plan had worked. The batarian had doubled over in intense pain, moaning obscenities and curses that her translator didn't quite pick up. Shepard was thankful that some things didn’t translate well across species; he was likely assaulting her with every obscenity he'd ever learned, with the way curses flew from his lips.

She tried her best to create a throw field to knock him back even further but it barely even affected his balance. He was on his knees now, looking up at his unlikely attacker, hatred burning in his eyes.

He bit out his threat. “You. Are. So. Fucking. Dead.”

The ice in her veins returned with a vengeance. Shepard ran. As fast as her feet would let her. Granted it couldn't have been more than a few meters before that beefy hand locked around her ankle, dragging her back down with him. He was still groaning in pain, but in his other hand was the knife, itching for a taste of her blood. She reached out for that hand, knowing that if he stabbed her it was all over. 

He was too quick. 

Shepard felt a searing pain on her forearm as he sliced vertically in defense. Blood came rushing out of her, its crimson warmth pooling over her skin before dripping in fat droplets to the floor. She cried out it pain. Tears welled up in her eyes and her body became paralyzed with the fear. Now it was fear of a very real and very quick death. 

He climbed up over her almost-naked body and straddled her, raising the knife high above his head.  
Realization hit her like a train.  
_He was going to kill her, right here, on the grime covered streets of Omega.  
She was going to die._

 

Shepard hardly had the chance to close her eyes before the batarian’s head exploded in front of her. The earsplitting _crack_ of the gunshot echoed painfully through the tunnels and straight through to her brain. 

Blood had spattered across her face, the walls, everything.

She looked on in horror as everything moved in slow motion. Her now-mostly-headless attacker slumped down on top of her. She tried in vain to push him off, but groaned in misery as the sharp pain in her arm stopped her. Along with the batarian’s, her blood also oozed openly from the deep gash on her wrist.  
She barely had time to worry before her vision started fading out. Blood loss, already? Fuck if this wasn't the worst night ever. Omega really was out for her blood. She wished she had listen to her gut. _Should’ve stayed on the Normandy_ , it taunted.

Noticing movement above her, she glanced over in shock. She wasn’t religious, but in that moment she was praying to every deity out there that it wasn’t the vorcha come to loot her body before she was even dead. It was only seconds before she started feeling the cool relief of medigel being spread over her arm. She followed the three-fingered hands that were applying it all the way up to his face.

_A turian?_

A turian on Omega had just saved her life.

He was kneeling next to her, focused blue eyes intent on solving the problem at hand. His Black Widow sniper rifle laid at his feet, still smoking from his precision shot. 

She was so weak, the alcohol combined with the blood loss making her delirious. In an instant she was hyper-aware of her situation, attempting to get his attention, for fear that he might leave her here, like this. She would definitely die left unattended in this neighborhood, in her state. Might as well not even bother with the medigel.

“P-please don't leave me,” she whispered, feeling unconsciousness tug roughly at the corners of her eyes. She really, really did not want to die here.  
The last thing she remembered before the blackness consumed her was his rich voice, a quiet reassurance in the dark.

“Never.”


	2. Peace in Violence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard gets to know her savior better.

She awakened with a start to large hands gently shaking her awake. Immediately she was made aware of the pounding in her head. Her tired eyes drifted open slowly, and harsh artificial light met her dilated pupils. Shepard sucked in a breath of surprise in realizing the turian's proximity to her. Directly above her head was his; pale blue eyes met hazel. His mandibles, painted with dark blue clan markings, were flared wide with what Shepard could only describe as worry. She tried to sit up, but her headache threatened to split her skull wide open. Her mouth fell open in excruciating pain and Shepard shut her eyes, hoping to make it all go away. 

No such luck.

“Hey, hey, take it easy. You're safe,” he whispered. One of his enormous hands was on her shoulder, then, slowly pushing her back down.

“Wh… who..?” Shepard trailed off, hoping he’d understand her question. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against the roof of her mouth and she could not force any more sound out.

“Garrus,” he told her, by way of introduction. “I live here.”

She nodded her understanding, but still glanced worriedly around the room. No one’s intentions were ever pure on Omega, and _especially_ not in regards to her. She tried to swallow, but found that same dryness in her throat--like two stones grinding up against one another. Not to mention that the pressure behind her eyes was driving her insane. She'd never experienced a hangover quite like this before. _What was in those fucking drinks?_

He roused then, seeming to understand her discomfort. His armored feet were clanking against the floor as he made his way to the sink to get her some water. She took advantage of his distance, scanning for cameras, traps, bugs, hell, anything that might be used against her. The sooner his motives were apparent, the better.

She jumped a little when he called out to her from his kitchen: “I'm sorry I don't have any levo food here, or else I'd get you some.” She found it odd how casual he was being, like this was a daily occurrence for him or something. 

Returning with the glass, he tried to hand it to her, but she could not find the strength to reach up to take it from him. Her arms were made of lead. _She was so fucking weak. And reckless. And stupid._

Before she had time to self-deprecate any further, he did something that caught her completely off guard. Sitting the glass on his coffee table, he reached out to both sides of her head. His hands radiated heat, only inches from her head. He paused then, deadly serious, with eyes asking silent permission. 

She smiled weakly back at him, _definitely_ against her better judgment.

Quickly, carefully, he lifted her head to slide a pillow underneath so she was at a better angle-- and coincidentally, more comfortable (his couch was intended for fashion, not comfort). And Shepard would be damned if those warm hands didn’t feel positively amazing against her throbbing skull.

 _Very considerate for a turian_ , she thought. _Wonder what he wants._

He once again reached for the glass and proceeded to bring it to her lips. The water tasted like shit, grainy and thick, courtesy of Omega, but the coolness was a welcome relief running down her throat.

She thought wearily of this mysterious stranger. Why was he doing this for her? Even if he did want her for something, he did not have to be this… gentle. She struggled to speak.

The gravelliness of her own voice surprised her but she continued: “Your water tastes like Omega,” she croaked.

“Like shit, I know. Luckily, we don't need to drink it as often as humans,” he smiled. 

“Lucky you,” she said.

Shepard chanced a glance down at herself. The gash on her forearm was clean and stitched, but the rest of her was still spattered with blood. And to add insult to injury, she was naked save her bra and underwear. Garrus had presumably draped what was left of her cocktail dress haphazardly over her torso. Fucking fantastic. Of course her undergarments were her slinkiest set, too; after all, she was hoping to get lucky last night. The irony of just how _unlucky_ she’d been wasn’t lost on her. Memories of last night surged back to her then with a punishing force, and it wasn't long before she felt the tears begin to flow. How fucking embarrassing. 

She noticed Garrus tense up next to her, clearly made uncomfortable by this display. His focus was intense, and the fact that she was here, crying, right in front of a total stranger (who wasn't even her own species) somehow made her tears even more violent. She turned her head to the opposite side of the couch; looking at him was too much. She felt more pathetic than ever.

Over the sound of her sniffling, his flanged voice was careful. “Listen, if I’m overstepping… you have to let me know. I have no experience with humans... _Am_ I overstepping? It's just... usually turians… we like to be close when one of our own is having a, um, hard time… and I know I don’t know you, but you did need my help...and… and...” he spoke, clearly unsure of himself. He moved like he was going to get up, but Shepard held up a hand.

“Stay,” she said, suddenly not so sure of herself either. He seemed.. relieved? What was she doing? This unwarranted vulnerability from him obviously had to be fake, and even if it wasn’t, the man was still a criminal. No innocence here. Omega had an uncanny way of either forcing a person to adapt or forcing them to bleed. Usually the latter. It had definitely made _her_ bleed. Shepard sighed, becoming annoyed with her reckless behavior as of late. She took a silent vow to never, ever leave the Normandy for anything other than business ever again. 

Realizing the folly in her previous statement, she corrected, “Uh, I mean, this is your place, and I've obviously overstayed my welcome. If you'll just point me toward the door, I'll stop intruding on your life.” 

She barely even heard his grunt of disapproval before she moved to sit up. The pain she felt was nearly unbearable. She winced and shut her eyes, biting back another round of tears. The thrumming her her head turned into what felt like an all-out icepick lobotomy. She slumped down, with her back finally against the seat. It had to have been painful to watch, and beyond humiliating, but hey, she was sitting up at least. Baby steps.

She swung her pounding head around to face him, and found his eyes again drilling into her. 

She laughed, a quick breath that made the icepick in her head become wedged even deeper.

“I am a total mess,” she stated.

He relaxed a little. “I'll admit, getting totally wasted on Omega alone may not have been the best of ideas,” he said, humor in his voice. She was not fooled by this; he had to be stalling. Tricky bastard.

“I'd also be willing to bet that I look like I got dragged around by a pack of hungry varren too,” she stated. 

Wait, maybe she was the one that was stalling.

“Well, if this is what you look like after getting dragged around by varren then I can't even imagine what you'd look like put together.”

_Did he just compliment her? And like this? She must still be drunk._

“I'll bet. Anyway, I'm really sorry for wasting your time. The door?” she asked. “Hey, uh…”

“Shepard,” she offered.

“Right, Shepard. You can leave anytime, whenever you want. I won't stop you. But you're hurt, and hungover, and something really terrible almost happened to you last night. Omega takes good things away from people. Could've taken you. Stay, at least for a while. It will be good for you to recover. And if we're being honest, I actually haven't had a real conversation with anyone in months,” he said. 

_Okay, mystery turian, way to get straight to the point._

He looked sheepish, as if that all had come out before he could stop it. It _appeared_ truly genuine. Shepard wondered now if he had something even more sinister wrong with him; being isolated from people for months would surely take a toll on anyone. Why was he alone in the first place?

Regardless, Shepard couldn't help but smile. If one of the criminals on this rock wanted her dead, it likely wasn’t him. It didn’t even seem like he knew who she was. However, if Shepard had learned anything in her life, it was that appearances could be (and usually were) incredibly deceiving. Her brain said no, but her body had control here.

Also, there was _absolutely no way_ she was going to return to the Normandy like this-- nearly naked and covered in blood. She relented. 

“Fine. But if I'm going to stay here for a while I'm gonna need to use your shower. I feel like death,” she told him honestly. She felt her once-blonde locks sticking to the back of her neck; covered in blood or sweat or both, she couldn’t tell. 

“Oh, er, right. Down that hall, back left door,” he pointed, sounding nervous again.

They both moved to stand. The pounding in her brain was back again with a vengeance. She cringed and shuddered as her headache forced her back down. Letting out a long breath she didn’t realize she was holding, Shepard was about to do the one thing she hated almost as much as the Reapers.

“Can you… help me?” she asked, barely above a whisper. He seemed to take note of her hesitance, but came to her regardless. 

“Of course.”

“You did ask for this, just remember that,” she tried teasing.

He smiled a little at that. “I know, Shepard.” He crouched to take her arm over his shoulders. His cowl made it more than a little awkward, but neither said a word.  
For whatever reason, it felt good to hear him say her name. Felt almost… normal? 

That would most definitely come back to bite her in the ass. Getting attached was not in the playbook. _Get your shit together_ , Shepard, she scolded herself. 

Supporting the entirety of her weight with his body, he helped her stand, her bare legs wobbly. She barely even noticed though, because she was acutely aware of his body so close to hers. Their hips continued to bump each other, his arm was around her shoulders, and his entire aura radiated warmth. It took nearly all of her willpower not to shudder in pleasure. 

What the fuck was she thinking? He better have a cold fucking shower. She had to have some of those Shockwaves still running through her veins; having these thoughts about a stranger--no, an alien-- was just not her. With the exception of one drell and a few asari at what seemed like a lifetime ago, Shepard had relegated herself strictly to humans. With her own species, she knew what to expect, what her standards should be, what parts to use and how to use them. An alien body was so foreign to her. 

_But you wouldn’t be opposed to this alien, would you?_ Her brain tempted. _No, no, no, I’m drunk, I’m drunk, I’m drunk…_ she reminded herself. No way, Shepard. Hands off.

Garrus seemed to notice her sudden tension as he helped her stumble to his bathroom, and broke her from her internal dilemma.

“You okay?” he said, glancing over at her. 

Hopefully he didn’t know how to read human body language.

“Just hurts,” she grit out. 

“Ah, sorry,” he said softly. 

She felt a slight twinge of guilt then for taking advantage of him, but her aching joints and the hammering in her head begged for relief. She had shown so much weakness lately that she could afford to be a little selfish here. Still, despite her better judgement, part of her felt a prick of shame at using him like this. _It’s only a shower, Shepard. Only a shower_ , she reminded herself. 

It seemed like an obnoxious amount of time before they reached his sliding bathroom door. She could support so little of her own weight that he practically dragged her in, sitting her down on the rim of his tub. She felt like a child being reprimanded for bad behavior as he turned on the water. It squeaked out from the pipes and fell to the grimy floor. 

While he crouched to retrieve some of his soap for her to borrow, she risked a quick look at him. His waist was slender, his fringe was long, and his deft fingers worked with incredible precision as he rummaged through his cabinet. Shepard vaguely remembered that he was a sniper, and a good one at that. Explained that laser-focus. 

She also noted that he was decidedly handsome for a turian. Or maybe just in general. Shit. The cold shower could not come soon enough. 

When Garrus found what he was searching for, a bottle of thick green liquid soap, he extended a hand for her to take. She silently remarked that his hands were not gloved; his sharp talons were on full display to her. Something in the back of her mind recalled a Citadel-species behavior guide that she’d once had to read as part of her Alliance training. Something about bare hands being a sign of trust. Another part of her recognized that this was his home, and he was under no obligation whatsoever to follow his social customs here, with a human. Either that, or she was just imagining things. Shepard didn’t know which was worse. 

She stood on her own, having relied on him too much already. Her stance was unsteady, but she made it. Her knuckles turned bone-white as she gripped the wall of the shower to step in, the effort tiring her quickly. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Garrus drop his hand to his side in defeat. He sat the soap on the edge of the tub and began backing out of the room. He took a fleeting look at the mixture of blood and water swirling in a gruesome tango before it disappeared down the drain. 

He cleared his throat before saying, “I’ll be out here. Call if you need me.” With that, he slid the door shut behind him, leaving Shepard alone with her thoughts for the first time in hours. Did she even know what time it was? Had to be in the morning sometime; her pained head was constantly reminding her of the overwhelming sensation of the station’s artificial light streaming in through Garrus’s windows. 

She slipped out of her wet bra and underwear and tossed them on the floor outside the tub. Drunk or not, the warm water felt absolutely heavenly running down her back. Her cold shower idea would have to be trashed. Save that shit for a later date. She didn't know why she was so sore all of a sudden, but her muscles ached as she reached for the soap. They were always so tight. 

Regardless, her rescuer’s shower helped to alleviate some of the problem. She lathered the piney-smelling substance against her skin and in her hair, rinsing away the blood. She found some humor tucked away somewhere inside her upon realizing how high up the showerhead was. It was stupid, but so was everything else that happened to her today. She knew some turians could be upwards of seven feet tall, but still, she thought it funny that she, a moderately tall human, could barely even reach it on her toes. The absurdity of this situation drew out a small snort of laughter from her tired body. 

Absurdity inevitably turned into something darker, and before she knew it, she felt the hot tears streaming down her cheeks. For the second time that day, she broke down. The enormity of her mistakes came crashing down. She had been so close to dying. So ready for that blade to come down on her windpipe. So ready to choke on her own blood before promptly falling into nothingness. She’d be lying if she said hadn’t thought about ending it before. She was so used to being alone as it was. But death was a whole new beast entirely. That void scared her so deeply and intensely that ending it was not an option. To think of being forced into that kind of permanence by a total stranger left Shepard gasping for breath and pounding a fist against the wet tile. Garrus was probably able to hear it from across the apartment, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was thinking now of Virmire and Ashley and what her last moments must have been like. She had faced that same void but had no unlikely hero to save her at the last second like she had. Guilt came crawling back up her throat as she realized that _she was supposed to be her hero_. She was counting on Shepard, and she let her down. Let her die.

Devastating. It was the only way to describe it. She slid down the shower wall, put her head in her hands, and slumped into a ball. A lifetime’s worth of guilt came back to obliterate any semblance of control she had over her life. She stopped feeling for a while; her mind wandered outside of her body. She remotely registered the water running cold against her side, but made no move to turn it off. Her eyes closed as she allowed herself to go numb. What she wouldn’t give to just _stop feeling_ for a while. 

She finally startled when she heard the scrape of the shower curtain against its rack, and spotted Garrus’s hand peeking around the edge. His voice was as sure as she’d ever heard it when he finally spoke.

“C’mon, you’re almost done.”

She heard some shuffling outside the curtain before he handed a towel in to her. She wiped away the remaining tears and began to pat herself dry, taking extra time to stare at her wound. It ran almost the entire length of her forearm and the jagged edges reminded her of the mountain range in which she’d grown up. The stitches were close, precise, and quite obviously the handiwork of someone who had done this before. 

Garrus’s voice came through the curtain once more: “Dry?” he asked.

She gave a grunt of affirmation and his hand appeared once more, this time, a piece of turian clothing in his talons. It was grey and ribbed, coming down to her mid-thigh as she slipped it over her head. For a species that couldn’t feel much where they had that natural armor plating, the fabric was remarkably soft. After her movements had stilled, the curtain slid back to reveal a worn-out looking Garrus. Had he looked this tired before?

He assisted her exit from the tub, and in their previous manner, began leading her. She assumed he’d take her back to the couch, but when they passed it, Shepard became increasingly worried. He led her down a hallway on the opposite side of his living area; here, the blinds were drawn tight and any light that did come through was soft and muted. She had no fight left in her, so despite her stomach dropping in terror, she limped on with the turian. If he was going to kill her, now would be a perfect time. She was utterly defenseless, in pain, and she had left the rest of her adrenaline along with her sanity in his shower.

They soon came to a closed door. He released his grip on her, and Shepard sucked in a tight breath, closing her eyes, preparing for the worst. When nothing came, she opened them, only to find that she was looking at a bedroom. More specifically, _his_ bedroom. 

He spoke softly, seeming to know what she was thinking. “You’re safe. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

Shepard was at a loss. 

“I..I don’t…” she stuttered. 

“Sleep now, Shepard. Work the big things out later,” came his gentle reply. 

“This is your room, the couch will be fi--” she started.

He brought some harshness into his voice this time: “No. You should sleep in a real bed. I insist.”

Shepard came to the decision right then that she would not fight him. He was right, criminal or not, and he was offering. 

“Okay,” was her only response.

His grip tightened on her as she struggled with him over to his bed. It was unmade, but the sheets looked pristine. He sat her down, taking a seat next to her, and again, his blue eyes met her hazel ones. 

 

The sincerity of his next statement caught her off guard. “I think know what you’re feeling,” he said. She was about to tell him that he had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but he interrupted that train of thought with all the precision of a trained sniper. “You and I aren’t so different, you know... I’ve lost people too,” he admitted.

Her next question surprised even her. “Does it ever stop being so suffocating?” she asked, with more vulnerability in that single question than she’d shown to anyone in the last three months. 

He only looked away, and instead of a response, put a hand on her shoulder. _Of course it doesn’t get any easier, you idiot._ The pressure and heat of his hand were relaxing, though, and it wasn’t long before the lull of drowsiness began calling her. She touched him in what she thought conveyed her gratitude, only once, before laying back against his firm pillow, swinging her legs up onto the bed. She curled into the fetal position and settled into it, remaining perfectly still. Garrus rose and covered her with the duvet in a shocking moment of tenderness. 

She waited until she heard him leave the room before finally slipping into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter was a little harder to write for me, but I think it will be a good way to set the stage for their relationship later on... as much as I love my battle couple and want them to be forever happy, sometimes hardship is necessary... let me know what you think :)


	3. Very Specific Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shepard really can't get any peace. But at least now she has company.

Shepard’s head snapped up as soon as the first burst of assault fire sounded from outside the apartment. As soon as one wave ended, a few loud cracks from a sniper rifle sounded across the apartment, and then the cycle would repeat itself. It was dark out, and the only light available in the apartment was low and hazy. Omega’s generators were likely in their power-saving mode to simulate a night cycle. Unfortunately, that meant she might never even see these enemies coming. 

She sat up on the bed; the wrinkled sheets were mostly on the floor; she must have spent the night thrashing again. The nightmares never really did get better. However, her hangover was now little more than a moderate headache, and for that she was thankful. Garrus’s shirt had ridden up past her hips, and her hair was tangled in thick blonde knots. She hadn’t brushed it since before the club and would likely pay for it later. 

Her hair was an afterthought, though, as three more loud bangs echoed through the apartment. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and tried scanning the room for anything she might be able to use as a weapon, realizing soon after that she had absolutely no idea where this turian would keep his weapons. She pulled her omnitool up to her face, looking to apply her overload mod. Tali had recommended it as a way to disable enemy scouting drones. After weeks of pestering from her quarian friend, Shepard had finally caved and downloaded the mod to get Tali off her back. It was weak, and not battle-appropriate by any means, but then again, she preferred to charge right into the thick of things, guns blazing. No need to overload anyone’s armor when you had a shotgun at point-blank range. Except she didn’t have any guns… or shields. Biotics were always an option but she knew that they’d be on the mend as well after her intense hangover. It was a mental game, and she did not have the advantage. 

More than anything, though, she wondered how long she was out. She felt like she’d just lost days, not hours. Everything had been so peaceful when she’d gone to sleep; sad and emotional, maybe, but peaceful. It was peculiar, finding something that had been so elusive to her in the apartment of a total stranger on Omega. But she was awake once again, and chaos evidently had regained its hold on her life. 

Holding her omnitool defensively in front of her like it would hold up against _fucking bullets_ , she silently padded to the door that led out of Garrus’s bedroom. Thank gods it was a manual sliding door and not an automated one. That’d kill her stealth and then she'd really be screwed. 

It was no sooner than she lowered one fingertip to the cool handle of the door that she heard the heavy footsteps of armored boots pounding her way. She backed up into the room, and her eyes desperately searched for anywhere to hide. Pausing only for a moment to think, _wow, he really doesn’t own much_ , she decided that no matter how cliche, the closet would have to do; the turian’s design tastes were tragically minimalistic at best and there was nowhere else to hide. She scrambled over to the closet and climbed inside, being careful to shut the door as softly as possible behind her. Darkness engulfed the small space. 

Encapsulated in his belongings, Shepard couldn’t help but breathe in his scent. It was like gunmetal, leather, and pine, and despite being in imminent danger, she found it incredibly appealing. 

Seemingly realizing her current predicament, her mind came back into focus. Working to steady her breathing and heartbeat, she shut her eyes and concentrated. Through the closet door, the slightly-muffled sound of the bedroom door being opened caused her to hold her breath in reflex. She was not about to die here, especially not after all this. The heavy footsteps stalled after a long creak in the floor. Judging by that sound alone, whoever this was, was big. Definitely _not human_. And almost certainly armed. 

If she waited for them to find her, hiding in here, she’d never stand a chance. They'd gun her down before she'd even have a chance to retaliate. There was no mercy on Omega, especially if these people were willing to shoot up the entire apartment. 

Regrettably, surprise was now her only option. Maybe then she could overload their systems and make a break for it… or for Garrus, maybe. She waited for the footsteps to approach her hiding spot.

Taking a deep breath, she willed her heart to stop its erratic beating and tightened her hands into fists. Her nails were rather long, and bloody crescents began forming in her palms as she squeezed tighter and tighter. 

Then, quick as a flash of lightning, she leaped from the closet and fried her omnitool in an attempt to painfully overload the familiar cobalt-blue armor of… Garrus?

He grunted in surprise and displeasure but was virtually unharmed. He a few steps back as the final blue bolts of electricity danced over his chest. He lowered his rifle upon seeing her.

“What the _fuck_ , Shepard?” he asked in annoyance. 

She swallowed, guilty. “Garrus! Sorry, I didn’t know. I heard gunfire, and…” she tried to explain.

“No, no, it’s fine. Nothing like a little zap to get the neurons firing, am I right?” he shook his head. “You didn't _honestly_ think that would work, though, did you?” he joked. She could hardly believe he was teasing her right now. _He_ might not have been an attacker, but those assault rifles outside definitely did not sound friendly. 

Ignoring his invitation for banter, she continued with her real question. “What the hell is going on?” she demanded.

He looked dumbfounded, almost like he wasn’t expecting her to ask. When he spoke, it sounded slightly overwhelmed: “Well, that’s a little hard to explain, and I don’t know you all that well, and--”

Shepard cut him off before he could continue. “Listen, buddy, if people are shooting at me, I need to know why. Cut the shit and I can help you,” she stated. 

He looked away and hung his head. An armored hand came up to scratch under his fringe. His clan markings reflected in the hazy light. Even though Shepard was pissed off, she couldn’t deny that he was attractive. She’d always thought turians were aesthetically pleasing but never had felt quite this strongly about any particular individual. The richness of his voice had drawn her in, undoubtedly. But soon it was everything about him. Fuck, maybe she _was_ just a sucker for mysterious men. His brow plates were furrowed in concentration, and she knew he was likely debating with his common sense on telling her anything. A deep, low-pitched rumbling was emanating from his chest. 

It occurred to her that she understood why he hesitated; before previous missions, she had always wondered whether or not she should tell her crew just what kind of survival odds they were looking at. Based on his behavior now, she guessed the chances had to be slim to none.

But she wasn’t his crew. He didn’t owe her anything. In fact, she seemed to be the one that owed him. Her life, her temporary sanity, hell, even that warm feeling that crept up her thighs when she realized that he was close. 

He was hesitant when he asked, “Can I trust you?”

She paused. “It’s probably smarter not to. This is Omega, after all,” she whispered as the assault fire drew ever closer. Dumb fucking answer, Shepard. “But, if we’re gonna die, know that I’ll have your back, for whatever that’s worth.”

_God, what was she saying? Sure, she owed him and thought he was hot, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready to die for the fucker, Shepard. Screw him and his stupid face._

“Hah, okay, Shepard. I’m starting to get the impression that you’re a little more noble-hearted than you’d care to admit,” he said, with a huff that sounded almost… relieved? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied. “Now,” she said, focusing, “please tell me what we’re walking into here.”

His piercing gaze hardened and he was silent for a while before he replied, “I’ve royally pissed off a few mercenary groups on Omega. Ruining shipments, killing squad leaders, confiscating supply, you name it.” He swallowed nervously. “I guess they’ve come to collect.”

“You’re a vigilante?” she asked. He nodded curtly, reserved. “Not what I was expecting but I guess it makes sense… explains the heightened sense of morality,” she said, casually waving a hand from her shoulders to mid-torso in reference to herself. Garrus shrugged. 

A loud bang rang out through the apartment, followed by the sliding sound of an automatic door being forcibly opened. The reverberations shook along the floor and made her spine tingle. The turian tensed immediately and lifted his gun. His mandibles flickered against his jaw, as he turned toward the open bedroom door.

“They’re in,” he said. “Damn it.” He reloaded his nearly-spent clip and cursed so low that her translator barely even registered it.

“Garrus.” 

No response. He began stalking toward the other end of the bedroom and opened several drawers, digging around for something. She knew by his frustrated grunts that he wasn’t finding what he was looking for. 

She tried more force. “Garrus.”

He swung his head around to look back at her. His eyes bored into hers, silently daring her to speak.

“I need a gun,” she said. There’d be no way she could help him if she was unarmed. Definitely a burden not worth keeping. 

He didn't speak, instead choosing to fish around in his vanity. Shepard hated when people ignored her. Had to be one of her top three biggest pet peeves. She was about to spout out a ‘listen, asshole’, when Garrus had finished rooting around his bottom drawer. He brandished his prize high and it glinted in the low light, answering her request. After tossing the revolver to her, he reached around his cowl to pull two thermal clips from his loadout. He walked to her with impressively long strides to hand her the clips. 

She was still barefoot, pantyless, and angry, but at least now she could plant a few bullets in the mercs waiting outside for them. 

She heard what sounded like a salarian shouting as his men moved into position in the living area outside. She heard the shuffle of armor and mag-boots against the tile. The sound of shotguns and rifles being reloaded and the spent clips falling to the ground made her shiver. 

Garrus did not miss it, she knew. “You have no shields, Shepard. I’d tell you just to hide here if I didn’t already know that they’d kill you too. Follow me and stay out of sight,” he whispered to her. She couldn’t help but shoot a glare his way; an N7 soldier knew how to take care of herself. She didn’t need some random vigilante on the streets telling her what to do. If he did see her shooting daggers in his direction, he chose to ignore it. 

Crouching low and to the left, he opened the door with a predator’s stealth and both of them crept to Garrus’s workbench that sat in the hall. It was made of thick metal, perfect for cover. Unfortunately, the sanctuary it provided was not nearly enough for both a turian in full armor and a human to maneuver comfortably. As a result, Garrus and Shepard were nearly on top of each other. 

Taking a cursory peek around the corner of the bench, Shepard didn’t like what she saw. She saw uniforms from the biggest three mercenary groups in the Milky Way, as well as some freelancers scattered among them. Blue Suns, Eclipse, and Blood Pack all working in unison to take down one man. He must have done some serious shit. She tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. 

She tried to sound optimistic as she turned to whisper to the turian, “Guess Omega really has it out for me, huh?” It came out sounding more depressing than anything. 

Garrus didn’t even look at her as he replied. She could tell by the way his fingers were fidgeting with the safety of his rifle that he was nervous as well. “Please don’t do anything stupid, Shepard. I’m already a dead man walking, but you don’t have to be.”

“I’ll cover you,” she said. 

He met her gaze then, and she could see in his cool blue eyes that he was coming to terms with himself. She knew all too well what he was feeling. Having limited time to prepare yourself for imminent death put such a soul-eating pit in your stomach that you could barely stand up. Suddenly it was very important to her that he knew she sympathized. 

She grabbed his tense forearm to ground him. “I can’t promise we’ll survive this, but I do promise that I will do my best to get us both out of here. I owe you everything, Garrus,” she said breathlessly. 

_Fuck, that was intense, even for her._

He nodded. It was stiff, but she knew he'd regained some of his resolve. He checked once more to confirm that his rifle was ready, and then left cover, brushing against her to get into position. She knew as well as he did that he could only take one shot before the entire complex was alerted to their presence. One shot before all hell broke loose. 

Garrus was perfectly still, then. She heard him exhale slowly through his nose and watched as his mandibles flickered once against his face. He lined up his shot. From where she was sitting, Shepard supposed it was the crimson-colored salarian that had previously been giving orders. A smart choice. Take out the leader first. 

Shepard saw one taloned finger creep through the trigger guard… and squeeze. The salarian went down in a crumpled heap, blood spraying the walls (and soldiers) behind him. A human in Blue Suns armor cried out in alarm as Garrus fell back into cover. 

Time seemed to slow for Shepard, as bullets began to pummel either side of the workbench they crouched behind. One slug narrowly whizzed past her left ear. She needed to do _something_. Couldn't let Garrus take them all on himself. Not without protection, at least.

She tested her biotics experimentally, tiny blue sparks coating her hands. Maybe they weren’t at full strength but they could still create a damn-solid barrier. She held her breath and willed all of her energy to go into this.

The barrier she made was only large enough to envelop the space around them, nothing more. She thought she saw the faintest of turian smiles grace Garrus’s face upon his realization that she was actually going to help. She meant it when she said she’d cover him. Had a lot of pride in her honor, after all.

Though relatively small, her barrier gave Garrus ample room to stand and pick off the mercenaries one-by-one. She found herself somewhat fascinated with his shouts of victory as the death count rose.

“Scoped and dropped!” he yelled after another successful hit. Shepard found it impossibly corny, but also really, really endearing. Cute, even. 

_No, Shepard. Bad._

The whole company took about an hour for Garrus to take out. He really was that good. After the last merc had gone down with a wail, a Blood Pack vorcha, she let down her barrier. 

“Damn,” was all she could say. Her fascination with him had gotten the better of her. 

“Damn yourself,” he breathed. The exertion of his sniping and her keeping up her barrier left them both panting and breathing in the other’s air. For Shepard, it was intoxicating. Tired though she was, Garrus’s tactical precision had gotten her hot. He was so smooth and clean with his weapon, so confident. She loved it. Not to mention that the rush of battle never failed to exhilarate her. 

He tipped his head to look at her from his slouched position against the wall. His clan markings might as well have been glowing with the way she was staring at him. Strangely enough, it appeared that he was staring as well. She didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed up her bare thighs before settling on her waist. After a silence that was too long for either of them to comfortably call natural, Shepard spoke. 

“That seemed a little more organized than ‘pissing off a few mercs,’ Garrus.”

He sighed and rose to his feet. His demeanor changed immediately. _Always ready to ruin the moment, Shepard._ She was distinctly aware of how much he towered over her now. “I don’t know what you’re expecting me to say here. Would you have followed me if you’d known that all those groups were after me?”

Shepard knew he’d committed a lie of omission, but she couldn’t bring herself to become bitter about it. The number of times that she’d done the same to her own crew, at the cost of people’s lives, was innumerable. His head dropped in defeat and the succeeding sound he let out was absolutely heartbreaking. His subvocals trembled, quiet but not inaudible. Though he wasn’t speaking, she recognized his guilt easily enough. 

Shepard went to console. “I would have. You saved my life.” He glanced up at her under eyes hooded by his plates. “You didn’t even know who I was, but you did it anyway. I’ll never be able to repay that… and I know why you didn’t tell me,” she said. “Believe me, I know.” 

The tension of the atmosphere eased up with her statement. 

“If we make it out of here alive, I’d like to get to know you better,” he said softly. Mere days they had spent in each other’s company, and yet, she felt exactly the same way. _Something about old souls?_

_No, no, you just feel indebted. Nothing else._

“Maybe. I like to keep a little mystery,” she joked. A small laugh escaped him. 

“Fair enough, Shepard,” he huffed. She was sure he had some mysteries of his own. No one resided on Omega without a story. 

“I’ll radio my ship to send a shuttle and get us off this damn rock,” she said, feeling her exhaustion begin to creep up on her.

A fleeting look of panic crossed Garrus’s face before he asked, “Who’s in charge of the ship? Alliance, Council, or--”

“I am,” interrupted Shepard.

“Yeah, but who sanctions you to fly it?” he asked. 

“The Alliance. But if they have any interest whatsoever in my expertise, they won’t interfere. You won’t be targeted,” she said. “They have no interest in Omega vigilantes.”

Garrus brought up two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose, a surprisingly human gesture. Shaking his fringed head, She wondered what could have gotten him so distraught all of a sudden.

“Any interest in Archangel?” he asked, so quietly her translator could barely pick it up.

_What?_ She must have heard him wrong. 

No fucking way her Omega turian was Archangel. Archangel was a myth, a name used to scare newbie mercs away from bigger, riskier prospects. No fucking way.

The shock must have been evident on her face because he reached out for her arm. His gloved hand wrapped around her wrist gently. His fingers overlapped each other due simply to their sheer length. She just stared at how immense his hands were. The thought of how many people he must have killed briefly crossed her mind. Archangel was like a god on Omega. The name instilled fear. If you dabbled in any merc activity here, you ran a very high risk of crossing Archangel. And your chances of making it out alive were statistically improbable, so much so that it was believed Archangel was an entire group operating under a common name. Never took prisoners, never looted, and always protected the innocent. The name itself was a whisper, just a ghost story taken to the next level. 

_Or so you thought._

“No fuckin’ way,” she stuttered. Not the most clever response, but the only coherent one she could procure. She finally met his eyes, but immediately wished she hadn't. They were piercing and deadly serious. A sniper’s gaze.

Quickly she tried to diffuse the situation. “Listen, the Alliance has legitimately no info on you... on Archangel. Other than your M.O., you’re a mystery. Hell, they don't even know what species you are,” she finished.

His gaze became slightly less severe, but his hand tightened fractionally against her bony wrist. Damn, he was stubborn. 

His grip was strong and vice-like, but her sudden unintended resistance had managed to catch him off-guard, and she broke free. Upon the realization that she was loose, his brow plates furrowed in frustration and a low growl escaped his throat. His hand dropped to his side and curled into a tight fist. She had to remedy this. 

“Garrus.”

Another low rumble came from his chest. He barely grit out his response. “What?”

“I won't tell them if you won't.”

His hands unclenched and blue-painted mandibles lowered into a turian smile. One that Shepard realized she was coming to enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! thanks for reading, it means a lot. i love getting comments too so please don't be shy!


	4. Headspace

After telling Garrus he had her discretion, Shepard noticed that his mood had visibly lightened. His shoulders curved back into a natural position and his mandibles loosened ever-so-slightly. Relaxation suited him.

Of course, there was still the wall of mercenaries separating them from freedom, waiting for even the slightest movement to fire a barrage of ammunition their way. She and Garrus had managed to make it to the upper level of the apartment with only moderate difficulty. 

Tali had been worried out of her mind when Shepard finally called to radio for help. ‘Where have you been’ and ‘Are you sure you’re okay’ tumbled out of her every few minutes. She’d assured her friend that yes, she was fine, and yes, she would tell her the whole story as soon as they were safe. _If they made it._

Tali was going to pilot a shuttle in to pick them up, but the bridge leading to the apartment was the only way out now. Garrus had assured her that they wouldn’t be coming through the basement. He’d said something about explosions, and she figured it was better not to ask.

Mercs were continuously flooding across the bridge, so she and the turian spent the better part of four hours picking them off. Tali had better get here soon, they were running low on heat sinks.

“You’d think they’d know when to give up!” he yelled across the din of voices and gunfire. He lined up his shot for a human’s head. 

The man leaned out to fire, and Garrus shot him squarely between the eyes. As the corpse crumpled to the ground, Garrus chuckled.

“Never even saw me coming,” he boasted. 

It was true, Garrus was an expert. She'd never before seen this level of unmatched skill, even in her N7 training. He was impeccable. Never missed.

Impeccable or not, Shepard would never give his ego such a boost as to tell him just how impressed she was. Yet, seeing those mandibles curve into a turian smile would be a welcome reprieve from the stress they currently faced. But, already, she had shared too much with him. Neither of them could afford to be friends with the other. It was unlikely that he would stick around any longer than he had to, anyway. Once the Normandy had taken them to the Citadel, Archangel would vanish once again.

…

After several rounds of mechs and several more rounds of freelancers were taken out, Shepard began to realize the severity of the situation. She and Garrus took turns firing while the other took time to reload and get some water from Garrus’s rations. The merc groups were not sending any substantial threat to deal with them, only enough cannon fodder to keep them on their toes. Get them tired. 

A solid strategy. 

She was exhausted, couldn’t even imagine how drained Garrus must be. She didn’t know much about turian sleep cycles, but was quite positive staying awake for at least 36 hours straight wasn’t good for any species. 

She glanced over at him after a small break in the action. His brow plates lowered as he sighted another target. He was focused, but she saw his weariness creep through in the little details. Like the way his finger sloppily pulled the trigger. Or the way he closed his eyes momentarily while he reloaded. 

Her omnitool pinged, breaking her out of her reverie. 

“Shepard! Shepard, I’m here, I’m at the compound, but I can’t come in for a landing,” came Tali’s accented voice. Shepard frowned. What fucking thing could possibly make this situation worse?

“Why the fuck not?” Shepard growled.

“Shepard, there’s a huge gunship headed your way and he’ll blow this skycab out of the sky if I try a pickup. Take care of him and I’ll get you out of here.”

Well fuck. 

Garrus growled in frustration. “She did _not_ just say what I think she just said.”

Sighing simultaneously with the weight of the news, the pair of them met each other’s eyes. Shepard saw a glimmer of something sad and familiar in his, something she couldn’t name. He looked almost dead inside. Even so, the moment was surprisingly intimate, but it dissipated just as soon as it had come. 

She saw his head tilt toward the window. His superior turian hearing had picked up on something. Likely the gunship that would be on top of them any second now. It wasn't long before she herself heard a faint _chop chop chop_ coming from the west. She glanced at Garrus, but he wasn't looking at her. His gaze was intently focused on the walkway below. A huge krogan walked up the bridge with a purpose, escorted by a small vorcha squad.

Upon seeing him Garrus swore, and the closest thing her translator could compare it to was _fuck_.

“What now?” she asked the turian.

“Garm. He especially wants me dead, Shepard. Get out of here before things get ugly. It's the only way you'll survive this,” he said calmly, more calm than she'd expected.

“No,” she told him. 

“Seriously, Shepard, you're almost out of time.” 

The krogan arrived at the entrance to the compound. It would be mere seconds before his heavy boots kicked in the door. The pounding of the gunship’s blades grew ever closer, as well. Hell was about to descend on them, and Shepard steeled herself for a difficult fight and reloaded her rifle.

She was interrupted by a taloned hand easing around her wrist. Unlike before, his touch was gentle. Her eyes flickered up to meet his. The gaze that greeted her was pleading, warm, and full of fire. 

“Listen to me. You don't want to do this. You don't owe me anything, and you sure as hell don't need to die today,” he said lowly.

“You don't need to die either. We're both getting out of here. I owe you that much,” she told him. Before he could refuse her, she continued. “Let's take out the krogan first and then we can worry about the gunship.”

He let out a groan of frustration before giving one slow nod of assent. 

“I'll distract them up front and you can flank, deal?” she asked, not knowing if he'd agree. 

“I suppose I don't have a choice.”

“No, not really,” she said, offering a small smile. 

Shepard warmed up her biotics and flexed her fist in an experimental grip. _Strong enough_. She took a deep breath to steady herself. If she waited too long, her judgment would definitely get the better of her. She’d realize that she was charging into a fight with nothing but a turian’s undershirt to cover her. _Well, nothing but that and the turian to whom the shirt belonged._

She wondered perhaps if she should look at him once more, but soon thought better of it. Better not to get attached.

Her fist curled and she felt the electric wave of her biotics consume her, indicating that her barrier was up. Trying to gulp down some of the rushing nausea she felt at her lack of armor, Shepard stood, entering the upstairs line of fire. She felt the bullets bounce against her, each of them feeling like a small punch as it collided with her shield. She descended the stairs as snickering vorcha laughs echoed in the large room; clearly, they felt confident. With her pistol raised, she began firing on the incoming squad. Three of the five vorcha went down flawlessly, their heads oozing a dark orange fluid from the bullet holes between their eyes. 

As she turned her attention to the other two, she found that they had already been taken down, with one screaming hideously as blood spurted from his neck. She couldn’t help but think _he deserved worse_ as she recalled the other members of his species from the alleyway. 

She eased her barrier down as it was exhausting her, and turned to search for the krogan. Stupid of her to lose him in the first place. She had no time to register the punishing blow dealt to her midsection as Garm pummeled into her. She heard a huge gasp of air, and only seemed to realize an eternity later that it had come from her. She was completely stunned, with her breath knocked out from under her. The right side of her ribcage thrummed in agonizing pain as the krogan wound back for another deadly blow. She was about to utter “please” in a vain attempt to stop him, but bit back her tongue as the sound of heavy feet thumped down the staircase. Garm seemed not to notice, far too deep in his blood rage to quit. 

With all the grace and agility of a big cat, Garrus pounced on Garm’s back. The krogan roared in anger and thrashed wildly to reach Garrus, who clung to his shoulders, but it was too late. She saw a flash of silver at his thick neck and watched as Garrus sliced straight through the veins there. Blood poured from the wound, and Garm’s eyes shot around in a panicked frenzy. But soon, the life drained from him and he fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Shepard gaped for a few seconds at his still-twitching fingers until Garrus broke her out of her reverie. 

“Spirits, Shepard. I told you you’d get hurt,” he said. 

Crouching down so that he was face-to-face with her slumped body, he began applying his suit’s medigel to her. The pounding in her ribs began to fade, but she still struggled to catch her breath. Her breathing was shallow and quick, and it evidently worried the turian. She held up a hand to indicate that she would be okay. Garrus grunted in confirmation, but made no move to stand. She peered up at him, but immediately wished she hadn’t. The intensity that met her was altogether overwhelming. It sent her into a coughing fit that did little to break the tension. 

She knew she had to recover quickly, though, because the gunship was almost right outside the apartment. The whirring of the blades hurt her head. They had to move.

“Help me up,” she commanded, offering a hand so that he could pull her into a standing position. 

As his warm fingers gripped hers, she was aware again of how much larger he was than her. His long, slender fingers were almost twice the length of hers. She vacantly (and inappropriately) wondered if there were some other parts of him that were just as long. _Fuck, knock it off. Now is **definitely** not the time._ She shook that thought from her head and moved to pick up her gun.

“The gunship is here, Garrus,” she told him. 

“I know. That’s why we have this,” he said smugly.

The weapon he pulled from his loadout was immense. A gigantic missile launcher that somehow she hadn’t noticed before. The thing was nearly four feet long, and if Shepard didn’t know any better, she’d say Garrus was looking rather proud of himself. Where it came from, she had no clue.

“Where did you get that?!” she asked in disbelief.

“I, uh, _confiscated_ it from an Eclipse merc who won't be missing it. Beautiful, huh?” he asked her, blatant awe coating his subvocals.

She offered him a quirk of the lips and stood behind cover as he lined up the shot in front of the window the gunship would have to come through. Soon enough, said gunship was hovering there, spilling out mercs in every direction. There had to be at least ten of them. 

The ship had tried to pull away in retreat, but not before Garrus fired a shot at the rear propeller. Thick, black smoke began billowing out from the engine as the ship fell back. 

Garrus switched to his pistol and began to aid Shepard in taking out the mercs the ship had dropped off. Nine of the ten had gone down without fanfare, but the tenth saved just enough time for the gunship to return. The smoke had subsided a little, and the pilot was laying round after round into the couches they took cover behind. While the ship fired at Garrus, she leaned out to pick off the final merc. With a pop of her rifle, he too fell. She glanced at Garrus once more as he began the rather lengthy process of reloading the missile launcher. One more well-placed shot and the ship would be history. It still hovered outside the window, firing short bursts at either of them whenever they attempted to make a move. 

Soon, Garrus had finished reloading, and was now waiting for a break in the fire to end this, once and for all. 

It was then that Shepard noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. Her head swung around to reveal a lightly armored freelancer, pistol in hand. He must have snuck in while they were distracted. Aiming at Garrus, who was too distracted with the missile. He would never see it in time.

Without even thinking, Shepard leapt from cover.

Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, then. The freelancer fired, she took a shot to the gut, Garrus fired, the gunship went down. The noise from the launcher going off left her ears ringing beyond belief. She looked down to her stomach, and found crimson pooling on the floor. The freelancer reloaded and prepared to fire again, but Shepard feebly gripped her gun and shot him in the chest. He groaned and fell, and her vision began to get blurry. 

She grasped around for the turian, her hands scrambled to find purchase on any part of his armor. Her field of vision was diminishing as the seconds ticked by, and it wouldn't be long before she lost consciousness. 

Her body felt hot, and a searing pain began working its way through her abdomen. She coughed a little then, and felt the familiar metallic tang of blood come up with it. This did seem to get Garrus’ attention, however, and he looked down with alarm at his feet to find her there. 

“Oh, fuck,” he said, to no one in particular. 

Shepard felt hot tears run down her cheeks. Getting him to notice her had seemed like a major victory. The turian fell to his knees and immediately applied pressure to her wound. It wasn't long before the reassurances began to spill from his mouth.

“It's okay, Shepard, you're okay,” he said frantically, his hands dancing between her stomach and his omnitool, rushing to apply his last half-dose of medigel. From what she could see, he looked very grim upon seeing her wound. She wondered briefly if she was about to die again. 

“I'll get you out of here,” he whispered. It was the last thing she heard before she fell into the void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to finish.. I have tons of ideas but I had to get this chapter out of the way first before we can get to the juicy stuff :) comments are always appreciated.. thanks for reading!


	5. More Fire

Coming to felt like swimming to the surface of a thick, black sludge. She felt as though she’d been swimming for a while, too, with painful memories clutching at her feet and threatening to drag her back to the bottom. A muffled beeping sounded through the sludge. She’d thought it was an alarm, telling her to haul ass toward the surface, to escape. Her efforts were always to no avail, but the beeping continued regardless. 

She’d gone through several versions of the same dream in the time she’d been out, and all of them had ended the same way. Dream after dream, time after time, she’d see the faces of the ones she loved. They were shrouded in shadow, but she could make out enough details to recognize them. Wrex, Tali, Jack, Anderson. She smiled in their direction, but they never returned the gesture. It was as if they had no awareness of her presence. More than anything, it felt as though she were on the wrong side of a two-way mirror. It rubbed her the wrong way.

The beeping would intensify, then, and her teammates would turn away from her to flee. She attempted to follow, but no amount of effort would permit her legs motion. She screamed after them, but the sludge filled her throat and she would gasp for air. It felt like drowning, feeling the suffocating pressure close in around her. This was the worst part. It made her wish she was actually dead, that _maybe this time_ she would just die and it would be over finally. 

That’s all she really wanted. For it to be over. 

After a particularly nasty dream, the beeping grew unbearable. It was loud, and it rang in her ears. If it was allowed to continue she felt like her head would explode. Every beep felt like an ice pick being driven deeper and deeper into her skull. Shepard had suffered enough. She used all the power inside her to kick toward the surface. She couldn’t breathe amidst the blackness, but she powered on. She could not be trapped here for another round of nightmares. 

Her eyes rushed open as she broke the surface. They darted around to find something familiar, but all she could see was a blinding white light. Cold metal was at her back. Her lungs burned as she laid there gasping for breath. Despite all this, she found pride in herself that she'd made it out of the haze. Blinking a few times, she retried assessing the situation. The light was bright still, but she could make out more of her surroundings. She looked directly above her to see the tiled ceiling of the Normandy’s med-bay. A glance down revealed that she was nearly naked, with nothing but strips of gauze to cover her breasts, gunshot wound, and pelvic region. She made a silent mental note to thank the good doctor for her sense of modesty. Having anyone see her like this caused her cheeks to redden and the hairs on the nape of her neck to rise in embarrassment. Turning her head to the left, she peered at the X-ray machine and the body scanners. Her eyes widened as she inspected the other side of the room. 

There sat the turian. On Dr. Chakwas’s chair, dwarfing it. His slow, even breathing indicated that he was asleep, so Shepard took her time to stare. His lengthy arms were crossed on her desk, and his fringed head rested upon them. It was an interestingly human position, she realized, and absentmindedly wondered if all turians did this or if it was unique to him. He appeared as peaceful as she’d ever seen him. His blue-tattooed mandibles wiggled ever so slightly as he exhaled. Studying his face in the light revealed a network of small scars criss-crossing its right side. A larger, darkened scar trailed down his jawline and onto his neck. Shepard found that this somehow made him more handsome, not less, as she continued to peer at him. 

And with that the other issue in her life reared its ugly head. In addition to all the chaos she already wrestled with on a day to day basis, there was this turian. Sticking out sharply like one final nail in the coffin of her misfortune, with his jagged edges and pale blue eyes. She knew she must have to be out of her right mind to be attracted to someone like him. 

For starters, he was nowhere near human; if she closed her eyes and felt his skin, there would be no mistaking him for another member of her own species. The rough, bony plating. The claws. The mandibles. _The teeth._ The differences between them were vast, and not just physically. 

He was an infamous vigilante with a title, hated by the three largest merc organizations in the Milky Way. He must have killed hundreds of people, if not thousands. Some of them _had_ to be innocent. And that made him a murderer. Someone to resent or hate, not to feel attraction towards. 

She was an N7 Alliance soldier. A decorated member of the human military. A Spectre. Or she used to be, at least. Before she threw that asteroid into the Alpha Relay. Before it exploded into a supernova. Before she killed over three hundred thousand batarians in cold blood. 

Hell, maybe they weren’t so different after all. 

She glanced down to evaluate the extent of her injuries. A hand trailed down to the amassed bandages on her abdomen and applied pressure. She gasped in pain; apparently medigel could only do so much. Ignoring the searing torment ricocheting in her midsection, she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her shifting around on the examination table caused the turian to stirr. She watched as his eyes sprung open to absorb their surroundings. 

It didn’t take long for them to focus on her. 

He rose to his full height in one fluid motion and took several steps in her direction. He opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. She could relate. What did you say to someone that just saved your life?

She did the only think she could think of. She smiled. A small, offertory upturn of the lips that she hoped would break the ice. Hopefully it didn't offend him.

“You’re smiling.” Not a question, an observation. 

“Someone has to. You look like you just watched your dog die,” she teased.

“My what?”

“Your do-- nevermind,” she responded. 

His face became more serious with his next comment. “Shepard, I--”

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s okay,” she assured him.

“No, I do. If I don’t say it now then I never will. You saved my life. You _took a bullet for me._ No one has ever done something like that for me,” he said. His hands clenched at his sides; he had to be uncomfortable, or angry, or both. She could never tell with turians. “Spirits, that was stupid. So stupid.”

He must have seen the look of indignation on her face, and quickly spoke to rectify his statement.

“But if you didn’t… I’d…” he stumbled. “Thank you, Shepard. Truly.”

She nodded, a slow solemn nod. With the air between them cleared, Shepard decided to tease a little more.

“Consider yourself lucky, Archangel. I don’t take bullets for just anyone,” she smiled.

“Oh, I’m sure,” he said, words dripping with sarcasm. 

The next line out of her mouth scampered out before she could run it through her filter. 

“Also, you look adorable while you’re sleeping. Mandibles flickering and everything. Very cute,” she giggled, despite the ache in her midsection.

His eyes met hers then. There was a flash of something a little less playful and a little more predatory glimmering just below their surface. She almost missed it, for it was gone in an instant.

“Cute, huh?” She nodded. “If you liked that, you should see how I sleep in a real bed.”

Shepard quirked an eyebrow at that. Flirting just this once couldn’t hurt, could it? Regardless, she didn’t think she could resist.

“Only sleeping?” she asked. Now it was his turn to cock a brow plate. He smiled, and she briefly saw his sharp teeth before he spoke again.

“Well,” he continued, giving added emphasis to his subvocals, “There _are_ other activites I engage in. Granted, they do tend to be a bit more… _violent._ ”

He wasn’t fucking around, she thought to herself. She struggled to swallow the lump that had risen in her throat. Turians always meant business. This was spiraling out of her control faster than she’d anticipated. Another glance up revealed that he was substantially closer than he had been when they’d started this conversation. He was a sniper, and she had carelessly placed herself in his sights.

The worst part?

She couldn’t bring herself to care in the slightest.

“Maybe you could, uh, demonstrate some of them for me?” she asked softly, swinging her legs over the side of the table so that she faced him completely.

“Perhaps I could. If you asked nicely,” he purred down at her. Forgetting the pain in her gut, she slid off the bench till her bare feet met cold tile. 

They were dangerously close now. Less than a foot apart. She could smell him. His scent was foreign to her, but it exuded masculine strength. Her eyes closed momentarily and she reveled in it. When she opened them, it was evident that he was doing the very same thing. Heat pooled in her lower body.

His next words caught her entirely by surprise. “I can smell you, Shepard.” 

With that, he inhaled deeply, all while making eye contact with her. She was shocked that she was still standing at this point. Not melted into a puddle at his feet. She closed her eyes again.

When they opened, he was no longer so close to her. He stood several feet away and the predatory look had vanished altogether. She started to wonder what she did wrong when she heard the worried voice of Dr. Chakwas at the door:

“You’re standing?!”

Shepard froze, heels locked on the ground. She hadn’t even heard the doctor come in. A quick look at Garrus and the smugness on his face told her that he had. Turian bastard. 

As Chakwas rushed over to push her back down onto the table, Garrus brushed past her. 

“I’ll be in the main battery if you need me. When you’re feeling better, come by and I’ll show you the _weapons_ you asked about,” he said, exiting the medbay.

“He seems nice,” said Dr. Chakwas. 

_You don’t know the half of it_ , she thought. 

Shepard had been unsure about a lot of things in the last several days, but of one thing she remained absolutely certain: She was entirely, completely, royally screwed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch yourself, Shepard. Garrus means business ;)


	6. Hypnotic

The recovery process went off without a hitch. For three days she was restricted to the confines of the lab. Daily doses of medigel and several agonizingly slow hours of physical therapy later, and Shepard was able to return to her quarters. But only if she agreed to allow Chakwas in periodically to follow up and run tests. If it meant she was able to sleep in her own bed and not on the rock hard exam table then she would damn well take it.

Despite her mostly clean bill of health, the doctor had told her to rest, at least for a month, if not more. Shepard told her that she'd do three weeks, and the doctor acquiesced. In the meantime, she watched downloadable asari vids from the extranet. Most of them were terrible, but she found that if she left them on at all hours of the day and night cycles that they were aids in fending off the nightmares. 

They were not nearly as constant as when she was comatose, but they were much lengthier. On the doctor’s next visit she'd have to remember to ask for sleeping pills. To get the six hours she most definitely deserved. She'd say they were for the pain, and Chakwas would be none the wiser. 

Still, in the hours that she did spend awake, the boredom crept in from all directions. Tali came up to visit a few times, but the guilt had driven her away. The guilt that she’d left a friend in an Omega club with no real means of confirming she was okay. Shepard felt no resentment toward the quarian, and assured her as such, but that didn't stop her friend from blaming herself. She was guilt-ridden, and Shepard decided that what her friend needed most was time to heal. Internally, she recognized that she needed that herself. But there was never any rest for the wicked. Tali deserved peace, Shepard didn't.

Some of her other friends came up once or twice to visit with her, even Joker made a surprise visit from the cockpit to wish her well. He only stayed for several minutes, but it was still a surprising gesture, seeing as he didn’t trust the helm to anyone. The sight of him in her quarters made her uneasy, like when you enter a room knowing something's out of place, but are unable to put a finger on exactly what that something is. Regardless, she was happy to hear his sarcastic voice. On an annoying note, she also had to keep ignoring Kaidan’s constant requests to come up, hoping that he’d finally take the hint. He'd always made himself too available, taking every single opportunity to flirt with her. As much as she swatted him away, he persisted like an insect in the summer heat. The man had a thicker skull than a krogan. 

If she was honest with herself, she enjoyed the attention at first. But then weekly personal visits became daily ones, and then at its worst--five times a day. This, coupled with frequent bursts of blatant xenophobia and racism, had left a sour taste in her mouth. He was a fine soldier, but Shepard wanted him off her ship. He could do his civic duty elsewhere. 

Besides Kaidan, the only person she had yet to see was Garrus. The Normandy was less than 48 hours away from the Citadel, so she’d assumed that he would come to talk to her at least once. If nothing else then to say goodbye. With little to do, her mind trailed back to their last conversation.

She thought perhaps that he was just an amazing bluff. Maybe he enjoyed playing around with people to entertain himself. She had met men like that before. Women, too. Even this theory she doubted, though. He had seemed genuinely affected by her. He could be lying, but the way his chest was vibrating indicated something else to her entirely. Still, he was able to leave as soon as the ship docked. What possible reason did he have to deceive her? 

With that thought in mind, she did the single dumbest thing she could.

….

As soon as the message was sent, Shepard knew it was a huge mistake. A dangerous mistake. She knew nothing about him. The only remotely sexual encounter she'd ever had with a turian was drunkenly grinding with a few at clubs. Nothing ever went further than that. Even then, it didn't last long. There were few of them that didn't hold a grudge after the First Contact War. _What the fuck was she thinking?_ She checked her new omnitool. In a matter of moments, her fate was sealed.

_GV: On my way._

He arrived from the elevator and announced his presence with a gentle knock at the door. She contemplated faking sleep, but her voice had betrayed her before further analysis was an option. 

The door lifted, and in walked the devil himself. The turian, though plagued by obvious weariness, looked downright sinful. He wore only his thin undersuit, which did absolutely nothing to hide his physique. He strode into her cabin with all the swagger of a Citadel elite. 

“Shepard.”

He stepped closer. It was obvious that he was intent on picking up where they left off. Her involuntary reaction to him was all the encouragement he required. 

“Garrus,” she whispered, her voice suddenly hoarse. 

He spoke before she could gain the upper hand: “Called me here to see about those weapons, did you?” His voice was low. Husky. Tempting. There was no sign of the nerves he displayed toward her in his apartment. He knew what he wanted this time.

She actually didn’t know why she called him up here. She wasn’t prepared.

“I, uh…” she sputtered. Feeling heat rise into her cheeks, she looked into her lap.

“Relax. There’s no pressure,” he said in a more conversational tone. “If you want me to stop, I…”

She interrupted, “No. No, I don’t want you to stop." She paused. "Shit, I don’t know what I want,” she admitted. There was a long silence as Garrus regarded her with unclouded eyes. 

Her eyes were locked on his feet. She was again reminded how so fucking alien he was to her. Yet, she wanted him. _Why?_ She had to get the situation under control.

“I need to ask you something,” she said. Waiting for her lust to ebb away a little more, she swallowed. Glanced at the empty space on the bed next to her. Waited for him to sit. When he did, she asked what she’d really been wanting to know since they met. 

“When we get to the Citadel, you’re free to go. So why are you still wasting your time here with me?” He looked straight ahead. Mandibles flickered once. Then twice. Then went dead still. Why wasn’t he saying anything? His silence confirmed her previous suspicions, then. He was choosing not to make eye contact. Shepard found herself becoming angry. “Does it get you off or something? Playing around with other people?” She wished she could resist her final question. But the urge to hurt him, to somehow transfer her hurt onto someone other than herself, was much too strong. “Is _that_ why you’re alone?”

That got his attention. 

He turned his head to look at her, and she felt like she was burning in the heat of his glare. She had made him angry. He stood to leave but turned again to face her. His height was imposing, and she felt a small shiver run down her spine. _Would he hurt her?_

“Go fuck yourself, Shepard. As far as I can tell, you’re alone, too,” he growled. “Have you told _anyone_ what happened on Omega? Do you even have anyone to tell?” he spat.

Those words stung. Icy or not, they were undeniably true. No one, not even Tali, knew how close she was to the end of her rope. She felt the familiar prick of tears at the corners of her eyes, but she knew she couldn’t just sit there and take it.

“At least I have people who care about me.”

There was no time to react before she felt a sharp sting on her left cheek. He had slapped her. His chest heaved, up, down, up, down. The slap wasn’t hard enough to damage anything, but the surprise of it left her gasping in shock. 

Before she could decide how bad it hurt, his mouth was on hers. She was too dumbfounded to do anything at first. After a couple nanoseconds, though, she reciprocated. His mouth plates weren’t at all like human lips, hard and unyielding, but it didn’t take long for his tongue to snake into her mouth. The sensation was strange, and yet not at all unpleasant. There was a low growl emanating from his chest, and his immense hands came up to grip her face, warmth soothing the side that took the impact. 

Regrettably, she had to come up for air and broke the kiss. This did not deter the turian, who was trailing his long blue tongue down her neck to lap at her jugular and collarbone. 

“You hit me,” she whispered huskily. His response was nothing more than an ‘ _mmhmmm_ ’ breathed into the crux of her neck. 

Her rage dissipated with every wet stroke, and she reached up to dig her nails into the armored plating under his fringe. A moan escaped her as he went lower, lower, lower, winding his tongue down the valley of her breasts. He was tasting her with all the gusto of a man starved. She pulled back on his fringe lightly, jerking his head back so that his own neck was bared to her. A low guttural sound emanated from him, and she took this as her cue to sample what he had to offer. She licked a long stripe from where his neck met undersuit to one flickering mandible. Not just hearing but _feeling_ the deep rumbles generated in his larynx. 

Before she was swept away with the rolling tide of lust, the subtle _ding_ of the elevator signaled someone's arrival. 

Garrus either hadn’t noticed or was too overwhelmed to care. He attempted to continue his ministrations until her reluctant hands pushed him away. Taking a shaky step back, she nodded toward the door, hoping he’d understand. 

She sat down on the bed and tried to fake some semblance of order by clawing fingers through her knotted hair and taking several deep breaths. Garrus leaned back casually against the fish tank and gave his talons a cursory glance. Trying to look detached. 

Her door slid open without a knock, and there stood the very last person she wanted to see, especially now. Kaidan.

He held a bottle of expensive human wine in his small hands. He grinned at her in offering, but she could only return a polite smile. As soon as his eyes landed on the turian in her quarters, his face transformed into a mask equal parts disgust and hatred. 

She turned her head to look at him head-on, and his face contorted again, in horror this time. 

“What the fuck is going on here, Shepard?” he hissed. 

Now she was confused. _What could possibly make him this angry already?_

"What?"

He stomped across the room and touched her cheek. When he pulled his fingertips away, they were coated in a thin layer of crimson. Garrus must have grazed a talon hard enough to draw blood. A look over at Garrus, then at her, then back at Garrus, and Kaidan was fuming. 

“This bastard hurt you?!” he yelled, his tone accusatory. His cheeks took on a ruddy hue while he waited for a response.

She shook her head. “Stand down, soldier. It is not what it looks like, and it’s none of your business,” she commanded, hoping he’d settle. 

“Really, Shepard? ‘Cuz it looks pretty damn simple from where I’m standing!”

He had no right to be this angry, whatsoever. Coming into her quarters on her free time to yell at his commanding officer. Unbelievable. She was about to reprimand him harshly when Garrus spoke. 

“Maybe it would help if you pulled your head out of your ass,” he said calmly. 

Kaidan dropped the wine at this; it fell to the floor with a clank, but surprisingly didn’t shatter. He charged directly at Garrus, fists raised. She stood to stop him, but Garrus was more than capable of handling the situation. He caught Kaidan’s wrist and snapped it backward. One sickening crunch of bone and the man dropped to the ground, wailing in pain. Some dark part of her found the casualness with which Garrus performed the action incredibly alluring. The more dominant, commanding officer part of her psyche felt otherwise. She glared at Garrus, and his only response was a shrug as he resumed leaning against the tank. 

“I’ll kill you, you turian bastard! I’ll rip those things off your face and make you swal--” Kaidan cried, interrupted only by Garrus’s clawed foot at his throat. 

“Will you now?” he asked. Shepard could only watch. She was awestruck. Kaidan gulped, but was not dissuaded. His brows lowered in an unflattering manner, and the blaze of hatred burned bright in his pupils. 

With his undamaged hand, Kaidan welled up a massive biotic force and hurled it at Garrus. The turian stumbled back momentarily, relying on the rear wall for support. He shook his head, the motion uncannily similar to the way a cat would at hearing a noise it disliked. Kaidan took the opportunity to rise to his feet, groaning each time his fractured wrist flopped grotesquely in the wrong direction. He held his good hand in front of him, summoning another blast to knock Garrus off his feet. 

_Too slow._ Garrus lunged forward and grabbed his pulsing wrist, breaking it with his momentum. Kaidan’s face drained of color and Garrus swept a leg under him. The man folded onto the ground like a deck of cards. He was silent then, aside from some pitiful whimpering. Shepard couldn't help but smile inwardly; a biotic with two severely damaged wrists was a biotic who couldn't fight. Thanks to her Omega turian, this nuisance was well on his way out of her life.

She didn’t know where she found the strength to speak, but her voice was firm. Almost excited, even. “Kaidan,” she said soothingly. His sweaty face looked up at her as he huffed in pain. She recognized the familiar shine of hope in his eyes. 

“ _Get the fuck out of my cabin._ ”


	7. Salted Wound

After a surprised and disgruntled Kaidan limped from her apartment and dragged himself angrily into the elevator, she and Garrus were left alone. She didn’t dare face him, not yet. It was a huge risk for her to even be in his proximity at this point. Didn’t trust what he’d do. Didn’t trust herself. 

He’d defended her, though. Took the heat from a truly psychotic biotic. She was astonished that he’d gotten involved at all. After what she said to him?

Her throat was dry. But it was her turn to apologize. Still didn’t face him. “I’m sorry.”

“I can’t believe you’ve kept him on your ship for so long. Spirits…” She heard him let out an extended sigh and could picture him shaking his head. 

“No, not for that. Well shit, yeah, I guess for that, too. I meant for saying what I said to you. Before,” she said. Finally turned to face him. Fortunately, he stayed where she left him. 

He let out a quick breath, halfway between a laugh and something else. His blue eyes were dark, though no longer with lust. The atmosphere was heavy in her cabin, suddenly, as if she too could now feel the burden he carried with him. Could feel how long he’d been dragging it. 

“You weren’t wrong. Not about that,” he confessed. He stirred, scratching under his fringe. 

“That doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean it,” she replied. 

He shot her a look. “Didn’t you?” Waving a hand in dismissal, he continued. 

“I had people. We were close. Probably because we were all crazy. Thought we could take Omega head-on.” He smiled in nostalgia, his mind was far away.

Shepard knew where this was going. Regret twisted sharply in her gut. She wished she could take back what she threw at him, but her previous malice hung thickly in the air, not dissimilar to the stench of rotting flesh. 

“There were twelve of us. Different species. Human, asari, turian, batarian, you name it. We were a family. We ate together, slept in the same compound, and killed mercs together…” He paused, pain evident in his features. “And then I got them killed. Every. Single. One.”

She couldn’t move. She lost Ash. One part of her family. That hurt something fierce, like she’d lost a part of herself. He’d lost everything. All the people he loved. _Everyone_. And she just kicked it back in his face like it was nothing. 

“So I’m sorry that I hit you, Shepard. You hit a nerve that I’m not entirely in control of.”

She inched toward him. Stopped. There were no words for what she’d done. Nothing would forgive that. Tears welled in her eyes, and she struggled to hold them back. _Fuck._

He took two steps so that they stood in front of each other. She dug her nails into her hands, praying for their shaking to stop.

“You didn’t know,” he reassured her, though his voice had an angry inflection to it. She looked away. Couldn’t look him in the eyes. Wouldn’t. Painful reminders of Ash flared in the back of her skull. Biting her tongue seemed to be the only thing that kept the warm droplets from running down her cheeks. She cringed at her fragility. She was Commander Shepard and here she was breaking down _again_. His pain and hers wound together round and round inside her. It made her dizzy.

The feeling of total-body numbness enveloped her once again. It felt like being paralyzed from the neck down, and panic ensued upon the realization that she couldn’t feel anything. Forcing someone else to re-live the pain that she had gone through with Ash felt like murder. In a way, it was. Murder of the soul. 

His hand was on her cheek again. Brushing away a tear that she didn’t notice had fallen. His skin felt warm. Comforting. She always felt better when he touched her. Took her out of her bubble just enough to regain movement. Before she knew it, her hand overlapped his. She gripped the deft appendage and squeezed lightly. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Stay here.”

Brow plates lowered in consideration, but it wasn't long before he responded hesitantly. “I-- I think it’s better if I have some time alone.” He gently shook off her hand, she barely resisted the urge to whine at the loss of contact. How pathetic.

He took careful steps around her so that their shoulders did not brush together. The sound of his footsteps padding toward the elevator made her cringe. While the person was unfamiliar, the sound was as recognizable to Shepard as the back of her own hand. It was the sound of rejection. Of being alone… again. There was no reason for her to be taken aback by this. She had no one to blame but herself. 

Peering at him while he summoned the elevator, Shepard distantly wondered if it would always be like this. Real connections continually being severed by her bruised ego. People continually leaving. She supposed it would be. It was a flaw that not many could look past. 

Garrus watched her from inside the elevator. His sniper’s precision was gone. Something grim was going on behind those eyes. As the door slid up to a close, she could have sworn she heard a low keening sound come from him. No interspecies training that could have prepared her for that. It was a broken, heart-wrenching sound. She recognized it as grief. It had to be. Somehow it felt worse than getting shot; regret coursed through her body, burning everything in its path. 

And she had triggered it. Not only in him, but in herself. Like some kind of contagious disease. 

The door closed with a _ding_. Losing all feeling in her legs, she collapsed to the floor. For the first time in years, Shepard opened the floodgates and allowed her emotions free reign.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its a shorter chapter, sorry yall


	8. Remind Me to Forget

The tears had dried on the floor. The ones that didn’t drip through the grating in the floor, anyway. She had wailed for hours up there. Until her eyes had dried and there were no audible sounds, other than the hum of the ship and her ragged breathing echoing throughout the cabin. 

The pain felt unbearable early on; resurfacing it after so many years of forcing it down and swallowing it back did significant damage. 

But now that she lay here, everything over and done with, the entire experience felt oddly cathartic. There was nothing left. An emotional purge was exactly what she needed, and she couldn’t believe how long she’d waited. The glass was empty and it was time to fill it once again. 

Dragging herself to her feet was a process; she stood there shivering on wobbly legs like a newborn deer. She gained strength in them during her brief walk to the bathroom. Her ghastly reflection greeted her immediately. Her face was red from being rubbed raw by her sleeves. Hundreds of thin red veins decorated the whites of her eyes, and the bags under them were a whole new shade of blue. From the outside, she looked like she could shatter into a million pieces. Funny how multiple near-death experiences can do that to a person. An hour ago, that analysis would be correct. But now, she felt more present than she ever had. Solid. The pain was still there, but the energy to do anything about it was not.

She stripped and turned on the hot water to the shower. While the water warmed, she stood to stare at herself in the mirror. Her gunshot wound stood out starkly against her skin. It appeared more like a gash since the bullet had entered diagonally. Continuous medigel applications had left the skin there soft to the touch, and quite sensitive, she found, running her fingers over it. As if on cue, there came a subconscious ache from the jagged path that the batarian’s knife had carved through her forearm. The mark had already begun the scarring process, and the healing flesh created a dark, swirling pattern against her lightly tanned skin. 

She would never be proud to be the owner of these bodily irregularities, but she could admit that they did provide a sense of satisfaction. A satisfaction that she’d survived them, and the ones that gave them to her did not. It was twisted, but spending time frowning over how noticeable they were wouldn’t help anyone. 

The steam from the shower did wonders easing the tension in her shoulders and back. Who knows how long she’d been carrying that around. This relief made her sleepy, and after scrubbing off the heady scent of turian, she exited the shower. Again, she stared in the mirror. Her body reflected exhaustion like a funhouse mirror. She was tired, sure, but her likeness in the mirror appeared not to have slept in weeks. It was dramatic, to say the least. 

Cool air met bare skin as she slid open the bathroom door. Smoothly dressing, she opted for comfort. All black sports bra, tank top, and exercise shorts. Before her military career, she had always shamelessly slept naked. But now, aboard an engineering marvel of interspecies design, an emergency on one of the lower decks could prove disastrous for her reputation. Not to mention all the jabs Joker could make if his Commander was forced into the cockpit covered with nothing but a bed sheet. 

The bed beckoned her with its siren song and before long she lay comfortably in its embrace. It took only minutes before sleep came to collect her. As she teetered on the edge of consciousness, she released a sigh in content. This would be the first time she slept well in ages. 

That night, the nightmares were worse than ever. 

...

A trip down to the mess hall was likely the last thing Shepard needed, but the absence of other people created a black hole in her behavior. With nothing to do, she'd destroyed her cabin in slow motion, allowing vids and books and weeks-old food containers to pile up on every available horizontal surface. 

She got a few wide-eyed looks from her crew as she stepped from the elevator. Kaidan’s drama did not go unnoticed. She observed Corporals Averette and Jones nudging each other as she passed. When they believed her to be out of earshot, they spilled hours worth of eavesdropped information to each other. Ignoring their hushed whispers, she forged on to the kitchen, desperately hoping that Wallers had whipped up something that tasted as good as it smelled.

Despite the restrictions placed upon him when ordering rations, Henry Wallers was a magician in the culinary arts. With the right touches, he could take standard-grade Alliance slop and transform it into something that would fool a high-class human official into believing it was of Earthen origin. The middle-aged cook was also something of a father figure to Shepard. She confided in him. When she lingered in the mess hall late into the night cycles, he somehow always knew she was there. Always came with an offering of hot tea in his calloused hands. 

“Well, well. Look what the cat dragged in!” he yelled, much to Shepard’s chagrin. She smiled at him, but the gesture didn’t extend to her eyes. He could tell. Almost as if by instinct, he began working on a cup of tea for her. Knew just how she liked it: chai, two teaspoons of sugar, a _little_ extra milk. 

She spoke softly, “You heard what happened? To Kaidan?” She wasn’t sure why she was asking; the only thing she really cared to know was if that nuisance was still aboard her ship.

“Ha! Shepard the entire ship knows; you weren’t exactly covert. I’m glad, though.” He leaned toward her with a hand over his mouth, miming secrecy. “Personally thought the little bastard was creepy as hell,” he whispered. Wallers knew full well how creepy he could become. Shepard had hidden in his kitchen alcove one night while the Lieutenant went sniffing after her like some rabid bloodhound. 

“So he’s gone?”

Wallers smiled. “The medical shuttle picked him up this morning. He whined like a bitch the whole walk there, too.” He paused to laugh to himself. “I wasn’t sure of that turian coming on board at first, but now…” He raised his eyebrows, pointing in her direction. “Now I gotta remember to buy him a drink.”

She winced internally at having to ask her next question. “Was he okay? The turian?”

He slid the steaming tea over to her. “Well shit, let’s see…” He looked at the ceiling in mock fascination. “Oh, that’s right. I have no fuckin’ clue. Must’ve forgot to ask him in our therapy session.”

“Ouch, okay,” she said, playfully placing a hand over her heart. 

“Don’t know a thing about those damn aliens. Well, other than most of ‘em seem to hate our guts,” he said apathetically. 

Shepard considered this. It was true that most turians had a certain distaste for humans. That ugly fact made Garrus’ interest in her even more suspicious.

Wallers began snickering to himself as if he was in on some joke that she hadn’t heard the punchline to. “Speaking of hating our guts, _why_ was he in your cabin?” he asked knowingly.

She didn’t know what to say. Telling the truth seemed to have just as many negative consequences as lying. The cook took her silence to be self-incriminating. 

“Shit, girl, you into aliens?” he asked, dumbfounded. 

Again, telling the truth would hurt. But despite his language and abrasive tone, she knew this man did care for her. And generally could tell when she was lying. It’d be pointless to feign ignorance. 

“Not usually,” she admitted to him, taking a delicate swig of tea. 

He laughed, a short barky laugh that was so infectious that she couldn’t help but smile with him. “Now I’ve seen it all,” he stated. “Commander Shepard crushing on an _alien_. Who would’ve thought?”

She found herself eager to defend her inclinations toward Garrus. “Laugh it up, Henry. But he’s not interested.” Wallers raised one crooked eyebrow, calling her out. “Besides, it’s not like that,” she stated, sipping her tea once again.

A rich, honeyed voice sounded from her right. “What’s it like, then?”

_Fuck fuck fuck._

Garrus leaned against the counter to her right, elbows propped up in much the same manner as hers. Her stomach dropped, and it took everything in her not to spit out her tea. She was _not_ ready to see him so soon. A quick glance at Henry revealed a man that could only barely contain his amusement. His bright eyes darted between them excitedly, waiting to see who’d speak first. The man felt none of the discomfort usually associated with awkward situations; in fact, he reveled in it. 

Someone had to say something. “It’s disappointing, mostly,” she retorted. She didn’t have the energy for another soul-searching exchange, so hopefully, Garrus was in the mood for some sarcasm. 

He was. If you could call it that. 

“Interesting. That’s not what you were saying yesterday,” he drawled. She pleaded with her eyes for him to end it there. “You know, when my tongue was down your throat,” he quipped, sealing her fate.

If she wasn’t so embarrassed by this revelation to one of her dearest friends, she would’ve laughed. Wallers’ jaw had hit the floor.


	9. Beggin For Thread

“You son of a bitch.” 

The turian’s smooth demeanor evaporated in seconds as she gripped the rim of his cowl, yanking him in the direction of the main battery. He stumbled behind her without resisting. She knew that if she looked back at Wallers, he’d be laughing and pointing in disbelief, so she didn’t give him the satisfaction. 

She pushed Garrus into the room and followed him in, locking the door behind them. There weren’t gonna be any videos of this on the extranet, that was for damn sure. 

She glowered at him, lacing her words with venom. “ _What was that?!_ ”

“I suppose it was me trying not to disappoint you,” he retorted. He crossed his arms in front of him, daring her to speak. 

“Oh, don’t play the victim.”

His mandibles splayed away from his jaw in simulated disgust. “Sorry, that’s your job.”

This conversation wasn’t headed in the direction that she wanted it to. “What do you want from me, exactly?” Her tone was deadly serious. It was time for answers. 

“Only your constant love and attention,” he chuckled, a dark look in his eyes. 

Underneath the playful nature of his jokes was something else. Anger? _Same here_ , she thought. _Welcome to the club, asshole._ Taking a deep breath, she broached civility once more. If he wanted to continue acting childish, she wouldn’t stop him. A casual reminder of the airlock location would do splendidly to silence him. 

“I’m serious, Garrus.”

He stared her down, eyes darkening. “I know. You seem to think you’re the only person aboard this ship that has any problems,” he stated. 

His criticism came out of nowhere, but it hit its target. Shepard took a step back. Before she could escape, he fired another shot. “But maybe no one’s ever told you that before.”

She turned to leave, unlocking the door with her omnitool. “I don’t have time for this.” 

He grunted in response to this. “Okay, wait…”

Shepard only tilted her head to the right to listen. Being at the end of her rope didn’t leave a lot of time for patience. 

She glanced down at her bare legs. Waited for him to say something that would make this confrontation worse. 

“I did want to ask you something.” He paused. “If you’ll… allow it.” 

He had a lot of nerve to insult her before asking for anything. She was becoming impatient with his pause, desperate to hear what he possibly could ask of her now. It had already taken a lot of work to push him away as far as she had. 

He grunted, subvocals nonexistent as he spoke. All the better; she couldn’t understand them anyway. 

“I want to help you. Fight the reapers.”

This surprised her. Reluctantly, she turned to face him. “Why would you want that?”

There was no hesitation from him. “Back on Omega, I tried-- no, failed to make a difference. Before that, I worked at C-Sec. There was so much red tape. Couldn’t do a damn thing.” He cleared his throat in resolve, as she’d seen him during their firefight. “But I could finally do something good here, with you. You seem to have your shit together.”

She almost laughed at that. If anyone knew precisely how close she was to losing her shit, no one would ever have trusted her with the fate of trillions. Wouldn’t be nearly as revered, either. 

Her expression must have betrayed her. “Well, professionally, anyway,” he said. “You’ve got some personal issues to work out, but who doesn’t?”

Shepard let her head fall, unwilling to let him watch her cold facade vanish. She should have been offended, but how could she be? He wasn’t wrong. Not about anything he’d said so far. 

“I’m flattered,” she laughed.

He held out both hands in faux surrender. “Also, I’m not so sure on human customs, but where I grew up, it was important to clear the air. Especially when there’s, uh, _tension_.”

She gazed up at him, curious, still maintaining her distance. 

“Tense? Who’s tense?” she joked. Her voice was quieter than she had hoped, and it drew his attention. Luckily, he seemed to share in the awkwardness. 

Garrus started wringing his hands a little. Seeing him nervous was refreshing; it left her feeling like he wasn’t so untouchably confident _all_ the time. 

“Ha, yeah, I know, I know.” His brow plates lowered; he had no idea what to say. 

“Clearly we’re both bad at this, but I’ll try to start?” she offered. 

His mandibles splayed wide in surprise, but he nodded for her to continue.

She realized she knew exactly what she needed to say to him. “I was wrong about you. Since we met, I’ve been wrong about you.” His pupils were dilated now. She assumed that her own were, as well. “When we met, I thought you wanted something from me. I thought you were an enemy. You aren’t. As we talked more, I had an image of you in my head. I saw a turian, an alien. Something different from me. I didn’t see _you_. Shit, I kept expecting you to pull off a mask and then you’d be human. I don’t want that, not really. And when I said what I said, I was _wrong_. God, I was wrong.”

Garrus was blank. His angled features betrayed no emotion whatsoever. There was a low rumble coming from his chest.

“You’re not human, but you’re just like me. And I’m so sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

His voice was a shaky vibrato. “I was wrong, too,” he started.

“I’ve never particularly liked humans,” he said calmly. This statement caught her noticeably off guard, but he continued. “It’s how I was raised. When I saved you, it was only a good deed. Couldn’t let anyone die like that. But then… then you opened your eyes on my couch, and they were bright. Like mine. I started thinking maybe we weren’t so different after all.”

“I like you now. But... no one has ever spoken to me like you did, Shepard. Not my family. Not anyone. You were hurting, and that’s partially my fault. But you dug deep. Opened an old wound.”

She wasn’t sure what to say; she’d been beating herself up about those words since she’d said them. Would he just drop it there?

“I’m sorry, Garrus.”

He paused. After some thought, he offered her a small but genuine smile. “You’re lucky you met me. Most turians wouldn’t be so eager to forgive,” he laughed a little. 

She had to be sure he was saying what she thought he was saying. “Forgive?”

“Spirits, don’t make me say it,” he said, putting a large palm over his eyes. Another strangely human expression. Shepard gave him a blank stare, pretending not to know what he meant. Even quirked her head and everything. 

Garrus groaned. “Humans… Fine, I forgive you,” he gritted. “And I’m sorry, too. For what I said. Opening your old wounds.”

“You’re forgiven.”

Letting her words linger in the air between them felt freeing. She closed her eyes and breathed in peacefully. When she opened them again, his blue eyes bored into hers, like he was trying to translate her actions into his own language. 

Shepard wasn’t sure if he knew how humans shook hands, or what it meant, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to give it a try.

Extending one muscular arm toward him, she said, “Welcome aboard.”

To her surprise, he returned the shake, albeit awkwardly.

She attempted to subdue her excitement at having him on the Normandy. To stay. She’d shared a lot with him, much of it unpleasant, but the effect his presence had on her was indescribable. Everything about the turian attracted her, but his most notable characteristic was how uncannily comfortable she felt near him. Odd, considering people never could get too close. 

She knew she wouldn’t have to worry too much, though. Sooner or later, he would see her true colors, and they’d undoubtedly force his hand. He'd leave, like everyone else. 

She might as well enjoy herself before embracing the inevitable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to write, I've been a little busier lately... as always, thanks for reading


	10. Wicked Ones

Shepard was doomed for failure. 

Both Garrus’ and Tali’s kill counts far exceeded hers. Partially due to the fact that she’d been swarmed with husks upon exiting the Kodiak. She’d burned them off of her body with flare after flare, but by then, the turian-quarian duo had already taken out a whole squad of Reaper troops. 

Tali called to her over the gunfire, “I thought you said you were gonna win this challenge, Shepard!”

Garrus reloaded his rifle and he chimed in, “She’s all talk, no game.”

She glowered. _You’re going down, turian._

Panting heavily, she jogged over toward her companions. Not from exhaustion, but the thrill of the fight. The blood coursing through her veins never failed to get her worked up during battle. It was the only time she truly felt alive. 

Crouching down next to Tali, she took advantage of a break in the action to inspect her omnitool. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the glaring red number in the corner of the screen. The counter that indicated how many enemies she’d taken out. Only seven. _Shit._

Tali must have been peeking over her shoulder because it took her no time at all to announce this disappointment to Garrus. 

“Ha! Seven? Shepard... that’s sad,” she said, feigning pity. 

This was bullshit. The whole challenge was her idea and she wasn’t even in second place. She remembered how confident she’d been on the shuttle ride down here, brimming with trash talk and insults. She thought suggesting a challenge she could never possibly lose would boost her own morale. It was selfish, sure, but after everything that had happened recently, she needed a win. No matter how small. 

Still, losing did have its benefits. At least she could stand by the fact that this was an ideal strategy for breaking the ice --again-- with Garrus. He and Tali could become acquainted, and maybe she could even persuade him to warm up to her once more. After their talk in the main battery, they’d parted amicably. But that was it. There was little small talk as they passed each other in the corridors, no banter, nothing. They were on good terms, but Shepard felt like she was walking on eggshells. The entire situation was confusing. Friendly but distant was not her style, and she didn’t particularly enjoy not having control. Funnily enough, though, she’d begun to seek out those brief interactions with him. _Stupid._

Regardless of his interest in her now, she knew he wouldn’t want her much longer. Most, if not all, of the relationships in her life tended to burn quickly and white-hot before they fizzled out in an anticlimactic snuff. But to her surprise, the turian had agreed to accompany her on this mission, despite the distance.

Garrus’ flanged drawl cut through her thoughts like a scalpel’s edge. “Ouch. Are you feeling okay? Should we go back to the Normandy?” His tone mocked. 

“Fuck you, Garrus,” she retorted. 

One of his brow plates rose suggestively. “Maybe not on the battlefield, Shepard.”

Perhaps they weren’t as distant as she’d believed. If he was willing to flirt, then maybe… _No, stop it. Shit, stop smiling. That was childish as hell._

_Wait, is he smiling too?_

Tali only groaned in annoyance.

“Right, so how are we gonna get to that comm tower?” Shepard asked, hoping to redirect her thoughts into something that more closely resembled mission focus. 

…

They had all agreed that the best way to the tower was through. It had been overwhelmed by marauders and those fucked up batarian things weeks ago. Normally, the Alliance would just move on and declare it an abandoned victim of war, but Hackett had insisted that its walls housed some extremely sensitive data that would cripple the Alliance if it found its way into the wrong hands. The Reapers should have been enough of a deterrent to anyone who sought it, but with most of Cerberus being half-Reaper themselves, there was no way he could leave it to chance.

About what sort of data this was, Shepard was kept securely in the dark. _Classified_ , Hackett had said. Classified even to the Savior of the Citadel in the midst of a galactic fucking war. Arguably, the most important galactic fucking war. Petty. She despised politicians. No one wanted to relinquish any power, even as their homeworld burned. Nevertheless, it was not her job to know. It was her job to locate. It was her job _to get the job done_. She could only hope that no one died in the process. 

Perched next to Garrus on a stack of crates, she readied her Widow. Both were in a sniping position, and Tali stood guard at their backs with Chiktikka and a trusted shotgun. There was so much risk involved with this mission, in any mission really, but the only thing she was acutely aware of was Garrus’ closeness to her. Their perch was only two crates wide, so they lay shoulder-to-shoulder. He had the inconvenient habit of exhaling right before he took his shots, and the hotness of his breath made her shiver. She feared drawing his attention, but he seemed either not to notice or not to care as he continued with one headshot after another. She had managed to get in a few herself, but winning the challenge was a prospect that still lay firmly out of her grasp. How could he not have slipped up yet? Her true challenge now was to stay focused on the mission. _God, how could she have fallen this far?_

“Shepard, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’ve given up on our challenge,” said Garrus. 

She gave him a little ‘hmph’ and said, “Just because you’re winning right now doesn’t mean you will be by the end of this.”

“Still confident? That’s cute,” he purred, having no right to sound that sexy during a firefight. He rumbled low, pulling the trigger. Another Marauder folded like a deck of cards. “Eighteen.” 

To flirt or not to flirt? That often seemed to be the question, didn’t it? On one hand, the attraction appeared to be mutual. On the other, well… He wasn’t ready for her. Not by a long shot. Damaged goods weren’t attractive in any species. 

Still, resistance was difficult. The line between professionalism and personal desire had been crossed an embarrassing number of times already. One more could only hurt a little. 

“You’ll be begging me to have mercy on you in a while, just wait,” she retorted. 

He stopped sighting his next target to look at her. A blush crept into her cheeks as she felt the heat of his gaze. Meeting his eyes would spell disaster. She didn’t dare. Instead, she’d pretend that whatever was going on at the other end of her scope had her captivated. 

“Is that so?” 

_God, that voice._

“Mhmm.”

But she wasn’t so sure that she wanted to win the challenge anymore. Wasn’t so sure about anything when he looked directly at her. Those eyes demanded her attention, and the feeling made her dizzy. She had to stand, extricate the scattered thoughts from her head -- hell, do _anything_ \-- before her priorities were irreversibly fucked. Clearing her throat to drown out the low purr that radiated from him, she rose to her feet. The sudden change in elevation made the blood rush to her head. 

“It’s as clear as it’s ever gonna get. We’re going in,” she announced to the team, consciously wondering if Tali was able to pick up on the turian’s physical cues. Maybe another dextro would have better luck identifying his thoughts. _Because I certainly fucking can’t._

The time the trio took to switch their loadouts was minuscule, evidence that each of them had undergone significant military training. Shepard wondered momentarily where Garrus had studied. Watching his deft fingers wander expertly over his gun left her curious. Vaguely, she recalled that every turian had a mandatory duty to their military. Required service. That didn’t sit well with her at all. Where was the freedom? The turians whose passions didn’t involve shotguns, criminals, and war?

Maybe there weren’t any. Maybe they were bred out of the population. No way of knowing. 

Come to think of it, she realized she didn’t know much about turian culture at all.

There was no time to dwell on it any further, though, because a brute was headed their way. One of those massive, hulking monsters that could really fuck you up if they got close enough. 

“This has to count for more than one!” she yelled to Tali. 

“I’ll give you ten for that thing,” Tali shouted back. “If you can take him.”

Garrus made an indignant stutter and shook his head. “In that case, he’s all mine,” he said, preparing a proximity mine. Tali backed off toward the cover of several empty crates. 

She whispered her warning close to his face, accentuating every word: “Back off, motherfucker.” 

“Threats won’t work on me, Shepard. I’m mostly just curious to see how you handle losing,” he chuckled. With that, he fired a wide spread of bullets in the beast’s direction. An entirely pissed-off sounding roar came from it, a grotesque, dual-toned mockery of a turian’s subvocals. Sometimes she had trouble remembering that at least part of this monstrosity used to be sentient. Had a family. Friends. A life. All irrelevant now. 

She’d seen so much war, so much death, that when Garrus started laughing, her gun almost slipped from her fingers. He was laughing. A full-throated, animated laugh. 

“Oh come on, you ugly bastard,” he called to it. Firing round after round, he danced into the clearing, rolling to dodge the fatal blows that the creature dealt. Each bullet drilled into the creature’s hulking frame with a repulsive wet _thud_. After another near-miss from the thing’s massive front limb, he yelled to her.

“Shepard! You’re missing all the fun!”

She was so dumbstruck at this behavior that her feet remained firmly planted in the wet soil below her. Laughing. To see a man so serious turn into a bundle of energy at the sight of the 12-foot tall monster that bared the face of his people made her head spin. He was _enjoying_ this. And, if she was honest, a part of her liked his display. The way he moved… It was obvious that he shared the same attitude as she did concerning battle. 

With her mind screaming _sick, sick, sick, you’re so fucked up, Shepard_ at her, she stepped into the clearing, poised to fire. 

In a fight, there was no time to mourn the dead, especially with Reapers. With the distinct lack of mercy they exhibited, the chances of seeing anything good in them were negligible. Stupid, even. She knew this, as did every soldier that had survived even one encounter with these formidable opponents. 

But few soldiers actually savored the fight. They didn’t, no, couldn’t, feel the same surge of power that she did. That pure rush of adrenaline. The unadulterated ecstasy that rode in with a newfound victory. Nothing compared.

Well, almost nothing. 

Admittedly, standing in awe of a certain turian doing the same thing did conjure a similar feeling. 

His predatory gait carried him to her. She was suddenly aware of the intensity of her breathing. As if she hadn’t just been standing there doing nothing. She fought to contain the blush that blossomed across her cheeks. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. 

“You prefer to watch, then, Shepard?” he said, dripping confidence. 

_Oh, fuck no._ If that wasn’t a call to action, she didn’t know what was. 

The metal of their armor scraped together as she made a point to brush against his shoulder. “Hardly.”

The rapidly-approaching brute rattled the ground beneath her as she let the familiar rush of her biotics engulf her. This was the first time she’d used them since… since…

_No, Shepard, no time for that. Not now._

Swallowing a deep gulp, she shook it off. She sent out a flare to pummel the creature, and then another. It wasn’t long before she felt her blood start to boil. Not out of hatred or frustration. No, it was more akin to exhilaration. 

When she fought, that was all there was to feel. None of her emotional trauma, no grudges, only the blood and the dirt and the gunfire. Physical sensation only. It was part of what made her so suitable for the Alliance after Torfan. Ruthlessness. That’s what they’d called it. She’d come to understand that other people often painted a more accurate reflection of her personality than she did; if they wanted her to be ruthless, then that’s what she’d be. 

She rushed the brute, throwing wave after wave of biotics. Her bloodlust consumed her, and she let the anger out through her glowing fists. Her head buzzed with the tingle of adrenaline. 

One powerful warp aimed at its front right leg caused the monster to trip. It fell in a brutal twist of limbs, throwing up a dark cloud of dust in her direction. While it was preoccupied trying to right itself, she charged again, omni-blade ready for the final blow. Its orange light highlighted the face of rage-- if she could call it that-- in its cybernetically-enhanced eyes. Using extra biotic strength to force herself into the air, she came down as hard as she possibly could. Right on the junction between neck and body. 

The result was an oddly satisfying blend of sparks and viscous, dark-blue blood. It gushed from the wound, and the creature made a guttural wail. She twisted her blade at a sharp right angle, and the brute uttered one final, gurgled moan before falling silent. Forcing the blade out of its neck with a sickening sloppy sound, she tried shaking some of its blood from her gauntlets before sheathing the weapon. Standing atop its chest, she had an excellent view of Garrus’ lean form in the distance. Her chest heaved with her effort, but she shot him a full smile. His returned look was one she could only describe as bewilderment. 

He looked as though he wanted to walk toward her, but his steps were staggered. Slow. _Surprised._

She caught the reflection of Tali’s helmet from her cover behind the crates. The quarian offered an enthusiastic thumbs up. She trotted past an immobile Garrus and to the feet of the dead beast, holding up one hand to shield her eyes from an uncomfortably bright sun. 

“Keelah, Shepard. Glad you’re on our side!” she called up to her friend. 

Shepard jumped down from the brute. “What’s wrong with him?” she inquired, nudging Tali in the turian’s direction.

Tali giggled a little. “I don’t think your new boyfriend was expecting _that_.”

“Stop it.”

The quarian crossed her arms and cocked a hip. Shepard didn’t need to see her facial features to know she was being called out. “Don’t lie to me, Shepard. I’ve seen you two together. How stupid do you think I am?”

Shepard remained silent. 

“Don’t answer that,” Tali continued. “Seriously, though, I think you should go for it.”

“And if I don’t?”

“And if you don’t, you’ll be missing out on that fine, fine turi--”

Garrus stood only feet behind her. Neither of them had noticed his approach. Tali, thankfully, mercifully, knew when to fall silent. Fortunately, he didn’t seem to be interested in taking advantage of her verbal slip-up. 

“Shepard that was… impressive,” he said. She noticed a very distinct absence of subvocals in his statement. _Strange._

“Maybe next time you could actually help me,” she teased. 

He smiled, and she almost missed the very faint growl he released before speaking. “Maybe we both like to watch every once in a while.”

He was smirking again. _No, no, it’s my turn. You’ve had your fun._

“You sound awfully confident for someone who just stood there like an idiot after I killed that thing,” she shot back. Tali’s restrained snort was the only audible sound between the three of them. 

Garrus was silent. His eyes betrayed his incredulity, though. _Success._ She didn’t think she could ever tire of seeing that look on his normally self-assured face. Maybe he’d tolerate her long enough for her to see it again. 

Clearing his throat, he spoke. Humbly, now.

“Maybe we should get to that comm tower.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i realize the reapers being here doesn't correlate with canon, but who cares lol... let me know what yall think :)


	11. Retrograde

Per Garrus’ suggestion, the comm tower was their next destination. The area went relatively quiet after the brute went down, likely because the Reapers hadn’t yet established a large enough presence on the planet to warrant backup. Too busy murdering innocent people, probably. Still, Shepard thought it was too quiet. There were no marauders, no husks, nothing. Hell, not even an insect in sight.

The tower building loomed in the distance. Upon brief inspection, it appeared to be in relatively good condition. Several windows were shattered on the upper floors, but otherwise, it stood strong. The same could not be said for the rest of the base, however. 

Garrus walked on her left and Tali on her right. The glaring sun reflected on their armor but provided little warmth. Sporadically, between pockets of cloud-cover, the rays shone through, accentuating the places in the base that took the hardest hits. The place was a ghost town. Entirely deserted. Of course, the landscape didn’t help either. Jagged cliffs bared their teeth sharply in the distance, and the general hue of the planet existed solely in greyscale. 

The soil here was dry. Every time the wind picked up, swirling funnels of dust were sent up all around them. Since she’d learned that the atmosphere was tolerable for humans, Shepard had opted to go helmetless. A decision that had proven to be misinformed, naturally. Plenty of oxygen, but each breath was accompanied by a mouthful of grit. Had to love these alien planets. 

Garrus seemed to be having the same problem, though, so she did find some satisfaction in her misery finding company. His mandibles did little to protect the open crevices in his jawline from the invasive sand, and she could occasionally make out his dark tongue fumbling around in there, tasting the edges that granted access to the bitter-tasting dirt. Still, he remained silent. Commendable. 

This place stirred an unpleasant feeling in her gut. This outpost was significantly more than a comm tower, as she’d been led to believe. Hackett said _recover the data, and repair the tower if you can_. Not, _hey Shepard, enter this huge abandoned military outpost; make sure you’re going in blind_. Going in blind had proven her downfall every single time she’d done it. This level of misinformation was typically not the Alliance’s style. And Hackett, he’d definitely hear about this when she talked to him next. She would tell him how tired she was of being in the dark and of being used like a pawn. And then he’d tell her that she was a soldier, meant to be used like a pawn. Not meant to complain. _If you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen_ , Wallers used to say. 

“Commander. I have a bad feeling about this,” said Garrus. 

“Yeah, me too,” admitted Tali.

Sparing a glance at each of them, Shepard only nodded her agreement. Something about this entire situation left a sour taste in her mouth. A trap? Possibly. No. Somehow worse. But bad feelings were hardly enough to go on. Shit, maybe they were all just losing it. 

…

She and Tali stood at a safe distance as Garrus kicked in the door to the compound. He’d offered. If she wasn’t so anxious, she’d have taken the time to admire the way his lean physique flexed under the armor. Witnessing his powerful legs in action was a true reminder that they were of totally dissimilar species. Where hers relied on intelligence and tools to scrape by, his had both intelligence and a predatory gracefulness that bestowed the respect of the galaxy upon them. 

She cursed her nerves for draining the enjoyment out of the view and swallowed the lump in her throat. The door came to a creaky halt as it swung ajar, revealing the pitch black emptiness of the room beyond. Visibility only extended about ten feet in front of her, and she huffed. 

Unclipping her flashlight from the belt slung around her hips, it flickered a few times before settling on a full beam. Tali and Garrus followed suit, and they moved forward into the compound. Loose sheets of paper and upturned chairs were scattered everywhere, making for quite the picture of chaos. It reminded her of a horror movie. Their boots echoed uncomfortably loud across the open chamber.

Toward the back of the room, she could make out the faint orange glow of vidscreen monitors. Their operators were nowhere in sight. Surprising, since the Reapers usually left countless dead in their wake. Tali seemed to be thinking the same thing.

“Hm. No bodies?” she questioned.

“Yeah, nothing,” Shepard agreed. “Stay sharp.”

After several minutes spent fumbling around in the dark, the group eventually located the elevator around one corner. Fortunately, it still seemed to be in working condition. 

As the doors groaned closed gently behind them, Tali gave an involuntary shudder. An action Shepard didn’t even know quarians were capable of, what with the suit and all. More and more recently, she often found herself noticing strange similarities between different races and her own. Was it a sign of how accepting she had become, or a remnant of her xenophobia for even noticing in the first place? It was a topic she avoided, even with her friends, for fear of them taking offense. 

“I hate the damn dark, Shepard,” Tali complained. “Anything could jump out at you in there… like those _spiders_.”

Garrus just glanced over at her questioningly as Shepard said, “That was _one_ time.”

“Once is enough for me.”

The elevator climbed the floors steadily. They headed for the eighth floor, just below the roof. Shepard felt the goosebumps rise along her arms as the elevator encountered some turbulence after the fifth floor. Her blood turned downright icy as it shuddered to a complete halt on the seventh. So close. 

Talking to no one in particular, she lamented: “Nothing’s ever easy, is it?”

The elevator doors slid open. Shepard didn’t think she’d ever forget the sight that greeted them. Or the smell.

Bodies. Everywhere. Piles and piles. Heaped on top of each other, like merchandise in a store. Men, women. _Children_. At the center of the room, dozens of those geth spikes-- dragon’s teeth-- stood proudly, with thick droplets of human blood running down their edges. Some of them were still in use, their victims in the final stages of the husk transformation. 

A dead woman lay at her feet. Brunette. She had one desperate arm outstretched toward the elevator and her fingernails were encrusted with dried blood. Likely gotten trying to claw her way out. Cloudy eyes were still open, and her face was twisted in a permanent expression of excruciating pain. God, those eyes. Those eyes were a black hole, and she was losing herself in the vacuum. Shepard couldn’t help but inch her boot backward to gain some distance. She needed more distance, needed to get farther away from _this_. This was worse than any nightmare.

“Oh, god,” she whispered under her breath. 

She had to hold her breath. The smell of the room was so pungent that she could taste it. It was blood, and rot, and death. The only living things in this room beside themselves were the hundreds of flies buzzing around the corpses, landing momentarily on her before soon returning to the rotting flesh that covered every inch of floor space. Her eyes welled up with tears at the brutality of the situation. She was no expert, but it appeared as though the Reapers had just forgotten these people. Killed and discarded. Bile rose at the back of her throat and she only barely managed to force it back down again.

She turned behind her to see how Tali and Garrus were faring. Tali had her head toward the elevator, helmet leaning against the wall. Her small hands were fists, clenching and unclenching at her sides. Not good.

Garrus’ face was completely unreadable. His mandibles drooped low and his eyes bored into the woman at her feet. His pupils were focused, calculating. As if he could will her to stand. He held his rifle in one hand, tightly, like one of the dead might reach up and snatch it from his grip. His small nose kept scrunching tightly together, and she recalled their conversation in the med-bay, in what had seemed like years ago. Turian olfactory glands were much stronger than a human’s, that much she knew. She couldn’t even fathom what this must be like for him. 

They all had to leave this room. Now. 

“L-Let’s take the elevator shaft. We can’t go through here,” she whispered. Even low, her voice carried. It sounded wrong in the silence, like she was interrupting something important. She turned back toward the elevator, searching for a ceiling panel that would let them into the shaft. 

“Shepard. Look.”

She followed Garrus’ pointed finger back down to the woman on the ground. Shepard had been too busy, too overwhelmed, to notice the single bullet hole along her matted hairline. So clean, in fact, that not a single drop of blood flowed from the wound. 

A panicked survey of the room revealed more and more bodies that shared the same single bullet hole to the forehead. Her breathing quickened, and she could feel the muscles in her chest tightening up quickly, too tight. Breath was now a luxury.

When Garrus spoke again, she nearly jumped out of her skin. 

“Shepard.”

Palpable fear writhed in her gut. She already knew what he was going to say. 

“This wasn’t Reapers. This… this was…” he trailed off.

She finished for him.

“This was an execution.”


	12. Let Me Follow

She didn’t sleep that night. Wouldn’t even try. 

She stripped her undersuit and went for the shower. It was a miracle that she had her own cabin. No one around to hear their commander pounding angry fists against wet tile.

Tali had come up to her cabin an hour or two after they returned to the Normandy. Her eyes didn’t leave the floor and the silence was palpable between them. What could be said? The realization that those people, those _children_ , were murdered in cold blood before the Reapers had ever made landfall didn’t need words. Speaking about it felt like a disservice to them, to that woman that had tried to claw her way to freedom. The woman clawed around in her head now, dragging her bruised form all over Shepard’s subconscious. She refused to think about who haunted Tali’s. 

As shaken as Shepard was, the worst part was Tali’s silence. Even after particularly brutal missions, she was talkative. It was her way of coping with stress. Parsing things together with respectful conversation seemed to help her get over almost anything. But Shepard could never remember a time in their years together that she’d been completely speechless. Granted, she didn’t think either of them had seen something so aggressively merciless.

Shepard grabbed her soft wool throw from her bed and beckoned Tali to sit with her on the bed. The quarian curled up into a ball and leaned into her friend’s open embrace. Wrapping the blanket around each of their shoulders, she leaned her head against her friend’s helmet. She fought back the urge to gag at the sinking feeling at the base of her stomach. Was it helplessness? She didn’t know. 

Part of her wanted to talk it out, to explain it away. The other part of her was afraid what might happen if she opened her mouth. All that was left was one final sliver of curiosity that gnawed at her insides. 

Shepard was a trained soldier. She finished her missions. Regardless of grief, or nausea, or overwhelming piles of dead bodies. The storage drives from the eighth floor of the tower were proof enough of that. They glinted in the harsh light of her desk and the sight was enough to make her look away.

What information was worth all that death? Would it be worth it to open those files? Was it better never to know?

Shepard sighed back into the mattress, pulling Tali with her. It was difficult to stamp out the rage that stirred in the back of her mind. Opting to close her eyes, she evened her breathing and clenched at Tali’s arm in short intervals. The quarian didn’t seem to mind or notice, swept too far into her own thoughts. 

As the ship hummed around them, indifferent, Shepard spent the next few hours burning that crawling woman’s image into her mind. Nothing was worth _that_. 

…

_Did I actually fall asleep? After that fucking nightmare of a situation? Fuck me._

She blinked the sleep from her eyes in several drawn-out moments, immediately noticing that Tali was no longer next to her. The bed was cold. 

Sitting up, Shepard surveyed the room. A small grey datapad sat on the bed to her right. On it, a simple but disheartening note:

_It seems I can’t fall asleep as easily as you. Going back down to engineering. -T_

Fuck. What did it say about a person that could fall into a dreamless sleep mere hours after witnessing dead children? What kind of soulless fu---

A ping on her omnitool ripped her from her thoughts.

_GV: Meet me down in the main battery. Bring those damn storage drives. We need to see._

Garrus, right on cue. She swallowed thickly at the implication of his message. Being minutes away from finding out why so many people were senselessly murdered… It felt surreal. Her fingers fumbled with the zippers as she dressed. _I’m shaking. God, why am I shaking?_

The drive nearly slipped through her fingers as she moved to pick it up. The coolness of it surprised her. She half expected it to burn her skin with the weight of its contents. An ordinary object, one she saw all the time, containing a secret that justified mass murder. Eerie. 

The elevator ride down to the crew deck dragged on for what felt like forever. The headache that had slowly manifested in the past few hours threatened to pound right out of her head. Was it nerves? Anxiety? Dread?

Wallers called out to her as she passed the kitchen. Seeing him brought tears to her eyes. She knew he’d comfort her, and that nearly always inspired an awful crying fit. His features immediately softened when he saw the hardened look on her face. Her feet carried her ever faster toward the battery. She could not afford to stop now. It might break her. 

The only thing keeping her from stopping at the battery door to calm herself were Wallers’ eyes boring a hole into the back of her skull. She opened the door and shut it as fast as she was able.

Taking a breath, Shepard paused to survey the room. The turian was nowhere to be seen. Only the faint red glow of the elongated room kept her company. Before Garrus had come aboard, the time she spent in the battery was minimal. In fact, she could probably count all those instances on one hand. The room was nearly always dark, and it always emitted an uncomfortable buzzing that left her on edge. 

The workbench to her left had various turian weapons scattered across its surface. His loadout. Most notably, a foot-long blade inscribed with turian characters. The nature of the calligraphy was entirely foreign to her--angular, with pointed edges. Very on-brand. 

She traced a finger-light touch across the letters, the drives in her opposite hand momentarily forgotten. The knife glided from its sheath as she tugged on the too-large handle. The blade itself was scalloped, wavy edges ideal for dealing maximum damage. Testing a finger on its edge, she sucked in a breath of odd satisfaction as it pricked her finger. Blood began collecting at the nick and she sheathed the weapon before anything else could come of it. Wiped her finger against her pants. Turned to find Garrus behind her, arms crossed, assessing. 

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to touch what isn’t yours?”

_Shit._

She stuttered, “I, uh, uh… sorry.”

He may have teased her, had the situation not been so grim. He looked exhausted, as much as any turian could. Not much energy left. 

“Did you bring them?” he asked.

“Yeah, but--”

“Good. Plug them into the monitor,” he cut her off. 

He was as she’d never seen him before. Aside from his tired visage, the person before her seemed quite resolved. He knew that he wanted to see what was on there. 

Shepard, on the other hand, wasn’t sure.

“Listen, I’m not so sure that we should--” she started.

“I--We have to see it. You know we do,” he insisted. 

She paused. Were they really about to go through with this? Legally, she wasn’t even allowed to see what was on these drives. Simply collect the data and pass them on to Hackett. But god, after what they’d seen… _Could she trust Hackett? The Alliance? Anyone?_

She felt his hand on her shoulder blade. He was warm. Solid. Confident. 

“I know we have to, Garrus. I just don’t know what we’ll find. You do it,” she said, lifting the drives up for him to take.

His touch was gentle as he took them, yet she still felt that he was tearing them away from her. Or rather, tearing her peace away from her. She’d been privy to her fair share of galactic secrets but this one had the potential for total carnage. 

As he hooked them to the monitor, jumbled text filled the screen. A decryption VI set to the task immediately. The progress bar in the corner inched forward painstakingly slowly, leaving them both suspended in the hazy light of the screens. 

After about thirty seconds of anxious silence, she needed to ask. Anything to break the sound of that quiet buzzing in the room.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” she said, turning to face him.

Blue eyes dropped to the floor before closing. The sigh he let out suggested he was more affected than she’d first imagined. 

“No, and I’d really rather not talk about that. That was... horrible,” he said. His last word wavered ever-so-slightly; she wondered momentarily if she was getting better at reading him.

“Sorry,” she apologized softly. She barely wanted to talk about it herself, why did she think he’d be any different?

He shook his head and huffed, mandibles flicking close to his face. 

“It’s just… how could that be justified? I’m trying to understand what possibly could allow people to do that, and I just keep drawing the same blanks, Shepard, I…” he trailed off. “If your Alliance is responsible for this…”

He didn’t finish, but he didn’t need to. If the Alliance was behind that atrocity, she didn’t know what she’d do. She shut her eyes and put a frustrated hand at the bridge of her nose. She hated what she was about to suggest but she’d crack under the pressure without a brief reprieve from this nightmare. 

“Let’s just forget about it…” Garrus glared intensely at her words. “... just until that’s finished, okay?” she said, gesturing toward the monitor. “Just for five minutes, before it all goes to shit?”

He nodded a curt nod and looked down at his hands. “Yeah, okay.”

Moving over to the weapons bench, he raised the knife she’d been inspecting earlier. Its dark metal glinted in the low light.

“It was my mother’s,” he said, much to her surprise. “From her military days.”

“She gave it to you?” Shepard asked. 

A brief flash of _something_ flickered in his eyes and she wondered if she’d hit a nerve. Again. Instead, he evaded her question.

“She was in a Cabal, you know? Turian biotics? It’s messy stuff, where I’m from. Heavily frowned upon,” he muttered. 

They traded glances, and she tried another, less invasive question. Or so she hoped. 

“It’s handmade, then?”

A ghost of a laugh escaped him. “Ha, yeah. My dad had it made for her after their bonding ceremony. Told her he hoped that it’d help her think of us and come home more often,” he said. Shook his head.

“It didn’t, not really. We missed her, sure, but she was a warrior. Told me that I had warrior bones in me, too. Not so sure how right she was about that one, though. I’m not a very good turian,” he huffed, more to himself than to Shepard. 

“Some might disagree,” she said. He flicked his mandibles into a small smile and shook his head before continuing.

“Anyways, she visited when she could. Never really stopped moving until…”

Maybe adopting a softer tone would help. “MIA?” she asked. 

He pulled at his fringe with a gloved hand. “Uh, no. She came home. Honorable discharge.”

The turian paused. Shepard hadn’t meant for things to get this deep. Conversations like this didn’t exactly take a load off.

“It’s called Corpalis Syndrome,” he started. A low thrumming sound came from his chest, but she’d be damned if she was going to interrupt him now. “It starts innocent, you know? Just forgetfulness. Stupid stuff. It turns into delusion pretty quickly after that. Then the hallucinations start, then the screaming. After a couple years she just wasn’t herself anymore. You just… waste away. Your body, your mind, everything.”

“Garrus. I’m so sorry.”

“The worst part was that in the end, she barely knew who I was. Didn’t recognize me. I didn’t…” he stopped. The vibrations from his chest grew louder, waning only slightly after he cleared his throat. 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye to her,” he whispered, clutching the blade handle so tightly that had it been human, it would have snapped. 

The humming from the battery was louder than ever now. All the shitty things she’d ever said to him came rushing back to her. They hung around her shoulders like a wet blanket. Suffocating. Heat rushed to her face and the room started spinning.

She had no fucking clue what to say to him. 

Garrus broke his grip on the blade and immediately looked concerned. 

“Shepard are you okay?” He asked softly, putting his hands on her shoulders to force her to sit on his workbench. It was then that she realized she was crying. Not a lot, just a few hot tears that dripped down onto her collarbone. How _embarrassing._

Wiping her eyes, a pathetic “I’m okay” slipped from between her lips. 

Garrus somehow managed to look guilty. “I didn’t mean to get that personal, it’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to tell.”

She sighed in exhaustion. There was nothing she ever did to deserve him. He’d divulged so much about his past, and what had she done? Spat in his face, twisted it against him. Too much bad existed in Garrus’s life, and she was now sure that she was the cause of at least half of it. 

“It’s not your fault. Nothing is,” she whispered. He knelt down so that they were at eye level. A careful hand rested on her shoulder, feather-light. 

“Too much shit has gone wrong, Garrus. I’m starting to wonder if there’s anything good left in this whole fuckin’ galaxy,” she sniffled. 

His warm breath ghosted across her face as he let out an amused chuff. “You’re telling me,” he said. 

He reached out with one finger extended to tilt her face up toward his. “Trust me, Shepard, there’s good left. It just doesn’t look like it right now.”

Another tear made its way to stream down her cheek. Before she could react, his unyielding plates made contact with her forehead. Instantly, her eyes were on his. The commanding voice that came out of him next did all it could to break the depressing atmosphere. 

“Listen to me.” 

“There’s you and me. We’re real, we’re alive. Still breathing. Feel yourself breathe, Shepard. Good. We can make it through this. You _will_ survive this.”

It was there, amongst the unsettling thrum of the ship’s engines and her own heavy breathing, that Shepard came to a truly startling realization: That despite the overwhelming evidence, perhaps this turian was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow I haven't updated in a long time, but it was part of my resolution to finish this story, and i'm at least going to try, haha... let me know what yall think

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic ever on here so any feedback is always much appreciated and welcomed... hope you enjoy :)


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